


do you have to let it linger?

by carrionkid



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - High School, Coming of Age, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: the year is 1995, the start of the school year and everything is about to change. graduating high school is scary and confusing and it's even harder when you're trying to figure out a relationship. growing up is already bad enough, much less when you're already more grown up than you ever should've been, but less grown up than you ought to be.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the tail end of summer, almost time to start back up at school, and he’s excited to have free time again. Usually only spends the few months they get working, trying to squirrel away money for the rest of the year. He learned real quick that not paying rent is a lot worse than not having much to eat for a week and someone’s gotta make sure it gets paid. Especially since dad isn’t home much these days.

 

He’s had a few fun times with Wade, not many. Most of the time, he just ends up falling asleep against him in the middle of trying to watch movies. He hasn’t seen a full one in years, couldn’t tell you the plot of what he did see to save his life. Truth be told, he hasn’t had much time to settle down and relax since he was old enough to do things for himself.

 

It’s starting to cool down, isn’t maxing out in the 80s and 90s anymore. Which makes the walk home a lot easier. He doesn’t have many clothes, mostly just takes dad’s button ups whenever he’s not around to see it. Sometimes wears his jeans, too, even though they’re too big. Just pulls his belt as tight as it goes, cuffs them, and hopes for the best.

 

The girls on the softball team tell him it’s trendy, tell him he looks like Sinead O’Connor. And he plays along with it, like he’s someone who can buy cassette tapes, or even has time to listen to them. As long as it makes people like him, he’ll play along with it.

 

His first job is stocking shelves at the gas station off of main street. It’s on the outskirts of town, on the opposite end from the trailer park he lives in. That one never gives him graveyard shift hours because the owner thinks they’re friends and knows he has school. Which is annoying because it’s what he likes better than being a cashier at the one grocery store in town. But they’re only open until midnight, which gives him a few hours to sleep before school each night.

 

He passes by the pickup truck rusting in the little patch of parking space parallel to the front of their trailer. He wouldn’t be walking to work if he could drive, but no one’s ever bothered to teach him and he wouldn’t touch dad’s truck without permission. Besides, he doesn’t really mind walking.

 

When he gets in, Elektra’s already in there. Her motorcycle was outside, next to dad’s pickup. Looks sleek and shiny and he’s more than a little bit envious of it. Sometimes, she lets him ride on the back of it. 

 

Got the box fan going but he’s not even mad because it’s impossible to live without it on. The trailer’s so warm, even when it only reaches the 70s. But he generally tries to use it as little as possible, keeps the windows open whenever it might help cool things off. But he wasn’t expecting her back so early, he thought she’d still be in Greece for at least another week.

 

“So I hear you are graduating,” she smirks, which really means she’s joking, “I was not sure that was  _ actually  _ possible.”

 

“Oh fuck off,” he flops onto the couch next to her, “And this is the start of the year, anyway, dumbass. There’s still time to flunk out.”

 

“You are  _ not  _ allowed to do that.”

 

He rolls his eyes and sets to unbuttoning the work shirt. He’s burning up, even with it rolled up to his elbows. But he doesn’t much like wearing short sleeves around people. Elektra’s an exception; so is Wade. Throws it aside, so he’s just in a sweat soaked undershirt.

 

“You are  _ going  _ to graduate so you can get  _ out  _ of this terrible town and this terrible trailer and go to college. And because there’s already a bottle of champagne in your fridge, courtesy of me.”

 

“Champagne tastes like shit, ‘Lektra.”

 

It’s a half truth, the other half being the fact that he hates it when she buys him things. Makes him squirm because he knows he’ll never pay her back. And worst of all, she doesn’t seem to  _ want  _ him to.

 

“Where’s Wade? I thought he practically lived here,” she changes the subject, must’ve known he was uncomfortable.

 

“Doctor’s appointment. But don’t worry, it’s just a standard thing.”

 

He doesn’t think she’d be too worried; she’s his  _ friend  _ but she doesn’t seem to really care about too many people. Sure makes him feel special, though. Like he’s the only person in the world good enough for Elektra fuckin’ Natchios to care about. 

 

(Not counting her boyfriend, who’s apparently a narc and that’s why they’ve never met.)

 

(He’s fine with that, he’d rather not get CPS on his case, dad would be pissed.)

 

She elbows him in the side, “ _ You  _ are worried.”

 

“I’m  _ not,  _ he’s always at the doctor’s. And he’s always  _ fine. _ ”

 

“So stop  _ worrying.” _

 

He grumbles, half-heartedly. Her boyfriend may be the law student, but she’s impossible to win a fight against. Probably was on the debate team and everything, with the way she argues.

 

“I  _ could  _ lend you a bit of money,” she singsongs, curls bouncing when she tilts her head, looking at him like she’s trying to pick him apart, “You could have a real date night. Your curfew would be at ten,  _ of course _ . People might talk if you were out late.”

 

He scowls, “I gotta work, you  _ know  _ that. And I don’t need your money.”

 

But it’s a good idea. He’s getting his last  _ good  _ paycheck from the gas station on Friday, before the school year starts. He could shuffle some money around, see if he has enough to go see a movie one night. It’d be nice, even if he’d probably fall asleep during it.

 

The last time they saw a movie together was almost a year ago. He’d paid for two tickets but ended up squeezing into the same seat as Wade anyway. Bullseye likes being close to him more than anything.

 

“Suit yourself,” Elektra crosses her arms.

 

“I’m gonna sleep before Wade shows up. Make yourself at home, don’t steal any of my shit.”

 

“You have  _ nothing  _ worth stealing and I have better things to do than stay here and watch you sleep.”

 

He makes a show of grimacing, sticking his tongue out, “‘Oh nooooo, I have to go make out with my narc lawyer boyfriend in the library while he tells me that PDA isn’t allowed during study sessions’,  give me a fuckin’ break. I’m more fun to hang out with than Mr. Stick In The Mud Murdock.”

 

“You are also seventeen and I need friends that do not need me to get them into R-rated movies,” She scrubs a hand over his hair, makes him realize he probably needs to shave it again.

 

“Fuck you, I’m  _ cool.” _

 

“Okay, I  _ will  _ give you that. You are exceptionally cool,” she laughs, “For a seventeen year old. But you are still a seventeen year old. And it would be sad if I got drunk with you.”

 

She gets up, like she’s ready to leave, but then she reconsiders, nudging his legs with the toe of her boot, “Eat something before work. You look more scrawny than usual.”

 

“It’s just ‘cos I’m walking fifteen fuckin’ miles a day in the middle of summer.”

 

“ _ Still _ ,” she gives him a dark look, like she’ll know if he doesn’t.

 

Then, she picks up her helmet from where it’s been sitting next to the box fan. Tucks it under her arm while she pulls her gloves on. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d ask if they could go ride together. But  that usually has to wait until it’s late; she’s a speed demon and she likes to take the back roads and he can’t be with her if she gets pulled over.

 

She’ll be back, though. She always comes back. She even has a key, mostly because half the time he’s losing his set. Sometimes, she even spends the night. She’s the only other person he’s ever fallen asleep next to other than Wade, which says an awful lot.

 

He’s alone now, which usually sets him on edge, but the whir of the box fan and the cicadas outside help calm him down. It’s repetitive, it’s good, and he kicks off his pants before curling up on the  couch. Doesn’t even mind how sunny it is; he likes sleeping better when it’s light out anyway.

 

(He’d always sleep with the lights on if he didn’t feel bad about wasting electricity.)

 

* * *

Bullseye dreams of the woods behind the trailer park. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s better than any of the alternatives. It always leaves him feeling strange when he wakes up, bone deep ache like he was actually out there in the cold. He’s always barefoot, never does that when he’s awake because he knows how bad all the rocks out there will cut up his feet and then he won’t be able to play and that’s really all he’s good at.

 

Sometimes when he wakes up, he’s crying. Most of the time, he’s just drenched his shirt through with sweat. There’s never any cuts, never any dirt on his skin, never any scratches across his arms from stray branches clawing out at him like hands wrapped around his wrists, holding him back, holding him tight enough to leave bruises.

 

Someone’s touching him and that’s what wakes him up this time. Damn near jumps out of his skin and his first instinct is to try and kick whoever’s there. But it’s just Wade, who side-steps easily and doesn’t say anything when Bullseye swings his legs around off the couch like that’s what he was trying to do, instead of trying to kick him in the face.

 

“Woah, jumpy much?”

 

“You  _ scared  _ me, asshole,” he’s smiling as he says it, doesn’t want Wade to think he’s actually mad.

 

“You’re the one who left your door unlocked! Do you still count as a latchkey kid if you’re, like, the only one who lives here?”

 

Bullseye tries to hide the weird little shiver that goes through him, head to toe, “Dad’s coming  _ back.” _

 

“It must be one hell of a bender he’s on, dude.”

 

He doesn’t like talking about dad. Never has and probably never will. Besides, it’s dangerous if he gets stupid and says too much. He knows how to talk circles around everyone else, only one who’s ever caught on was Elektra.

 

“How’d it go?” He really wants to know, but he also really wants to change the subject.

 

“Well,” Wade fakes a swoon and flops down next to him, close enough that their shoulders are touching, “I’m  _ dying. _ Still.”

 

“Elektra bought champagne, we can have a party,” he smirks, bonks his head against Wade’s, but not hard because they both bruise pretty easily.

 

He’s had four whole years to wrap his head around the idea that Wade’s dying, but he always says it like it’s a joke and maybe that’s why it still doesn’t feel real to Bullseye. It’s there, it always is, and he thinks about it a lot, but it still doesn’t ever really feel real.

 

Wade gets up, crosses the room in his stupid (but cute) hello kitty socks, and stops in front of the fridge. Swings the door open wide and stops in his tracks, mouth hanging open.

 

“Holy shit, you didn’t tell me she got a cake too? This  _ is  _ a party!”

 

“She got a  _ what?” _

 

“Yeah, dude,” Wade turns back, beaming, “There’s a whole cake in here!”

 

Bullseye is going to kill her. After he eats the cake.

 

All she ever does is buy things for him and he hates it. And he loves it, too. And he hates the part of him that loves it more than he hates her for doing it. He doesn’t need  _ help.  _ Or pity. He’s doing fine on his own.

 

But he also really likes cake and never has a good enough excuse to get it.

 

“Oh shit, she just told me about the champagne! We can split it before I gotta go.”

 

Wade balances the cake on one arm, holding the bottle of champagne with the other, and kicks the door to the fridge shut with one hello kitty sock-covered foot. He looks so incredibly happy about it, makes Bullseye’s heart skip a beat.

 

And then Bullseye stands up, stretches out, and heads into the little kitchenette to go wash off some forks. He hasn’t done dishes in a while, been too busy between two jobs. He gets a little bit lost in cleaning them off. They don’t look super dirty, but he’s still wiping the forks down over and over, like he can draw out this moment a little bit longer.

 

Wade must’ve put everything down at the couch, because he’s got both hands free when he slips up behind Bullseye and hugs him. Wade’s tall enough that the top of Bullseye’s head rests right against the underside of his chin.

 

“I think it’s clean, B,” Wade sways them both side to side, arms wrapped around Bullseye’s stomach.

 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

 

He shuts the water off, hopes he hasn’t wasted too much time.

 

He dries the forks next, careful to not get too caught up in it. Wade stays there the whole time, stays holding onto him, warm and kind of heavy but in a really, really nice way. It took awhile for him to get used to this, but after he figured out that Wade actually wanted to be close to him, it’s always been like this.

 

Bullseye twists around to face him, still holding onto the two forks, “Let’s go to the couch, better than standin’ around in the kitchen.”

 

“Yeah,” Wade nods, and then he kisses Bullseye right on the forehead.

 

It’s nice, the weird little aftershocks of being touched. The way things feel all warm and tingly for awhile, leftover impression of lips against his skin. He laughs, something he never used to do much before meeting Wade.

 

* * *

They end up on the couch, all tangled up in each other with the cake on the beat up coffee table in front of them. Doesn’t say anything on it, which helps to ease his conscious; maybe Elektra didn’t buy it for him, maybe her lawyer boy didn’t like it so she gave it away.

 

He’s grateful that Wade makes the first move, tearing into it with one of the forks. It’s not that he doesn’t like starting things, because he  _ does,  _ wouldn’t be a pitcher if he didn’t, it’s more that he  doesn’t like disturbing things. It’s untouched and perfect one second and next Wade’s ripping it apart and trying to feed him the first bite.

 

Bullseye’s too caught up in his own head, he needs to relax. So he closes his eyes and opens his mouth and lets his boyfriend make sure that he gets the first bite of  _ his  _ cake. It’s weird to say it, but it’s his. Elektra gave it to him, she’s the only one other than Wade who ever gives him anything and it’s at least partially his fault that things are like that.

 

Wade kisses him after that, has to be tasting what’s left of the icing smeared across Bullseye’s lips. It’s nice. There’s nothing he likes more than just closing his eyes and letting Wade be gentle and soft and  _ there. _

 

But then he’s not, still close enough that they’re touching but far enough away that Bullseye’s eyes flutter back open. Wants to pull him close but that feels so selfish, feels like it might be going too far. The girls on the softball team tell him that no one wants someone who’s so  _ needy. _

 

Wade’s flipping his fork between his fingers, talking with his mouth full, “This cake is dry as shit.”

 

“No one’s making you eat it, dude,” he laughs, poking him in the side.

 

Wade’s right about it being dry but Bullseye keeps eating the cake anyway. Seems worse to  _ not  _ eat it if it’s already here and he doesn’t get stuff like this often. Can’t afford it and sure as hell can’t afford cavities.

 

And then Wade’s getting into the champagne, sipping it right out of the bottle because it’s not like Bullseye has more than a few chipped mugs from the thrift store. He looks happy, so goddamn happy, and it kind of makes Bullseye want to cry, want to hold on him so this can last forever.

 

“It’s not bad when you wash it down like this. I think I finally get why people like weddings so much,” Wade says, forgoing the fork to just pull a chunk off of the cake, “You want some?”

 

“I gotta work tonight, babe.”

 

It’s true, but he’s also a little bit scared about getting drunk. Wade gets giggly and starts kissing Bullseye all over his face whenever  _ he  _ gets drunk and it’s cute and he loves it a lot. But Bullseye already forgets things as it is and he doesn’t want to end up like  _ dad _ . He doesn’t want Wade to be scared of him, ever.

 

“It’s your champagne, B. I’m not gonna drink it all. That’s a total mega dick move.”

 

“You can come over tomorrow and we can do, like, a toast or some shit.”

 

“Pinky promise?” Wade gives him a pouty, wide-eyed look, hand held up with his pinky already out.

 

Bullseye catches it with his own, completes the promise. Then, he leans in to steal another little kiss; Wade’s lips taste like alcohol and it’s better that way than when he’s drinking it straight. They’re being sappy, like the kids at school who get in trouble for PDA in the middle of the hallway, and it usually makes him get all flustered, but it almost feels safe to be doing this at home.

 

“Goddamn! I thought you were a softball player, but apparently your true calling is tonsil hockey,” Wade whispers, kind of breathless.

 

It’s a stupid joke, Bullseye didn’t even try to french him, but it still makes him laugh. All Wade’s jokes make him laugh; well, at least the ones he actually gets. He wants to settle into this, to stay like this for awhile. It’s the only time he feels calm.

 

The only thing stopping him from doing just that is work. Which has to be coming up soon and he can’t be late, he just can’t, because if he’s late then he could lose his job and then he’d be well and truly fucked, can barely make rent on one job.

 

And Wade’s waving a hand in front of his eyes, “Woah there, earth to Bullseye! Are you still in there? Or are you, like, rebooting? Am I dating a cyborg?”

 

“What time is it?” He tries to sound calm, but it’s not really working, “Wade, what time is it?”

 

He has a watch and he wears it all the time, only takes it off when he’s showering. He’s even wearing it now, nice and heavy on his wrist. But the battery ran out a month back and he hasn’t been able to talk himself into replacing the batteries, so it’s useless.

 

“Looks like it’s…” Wade trails off, checking his own watch, “Four forty.”

 

And he can breathe again. He leans all the way against Wade, head resting perfectly in the crook of his neck. Wade smooths his hands over Bullseye’s back, sounds like he’s whispering something but it’s lost under all the noise from the fan, from his thoughts.

 

“You could just call out, B.”

 

Wade doesn’t usually sound that serious, which makes him feel terrible.

 

“I can’t, I can’t,” he grasps at Wade’s shirt aimlessly, still has his face buried in his neck, “You know I can’t, I need money for the school year, you know I can’t work as much.”

 

“Do you wanna go get ready? I’ll walk over with you.”

 

“I just,” he doesn’t know what he wants, never seems to know, “I need to  _ breathe. _ I can’t, can’t do this right now.”

 

Wade doesn't say anything to that, but it isn't a silence that makes him  _ worry. _ Sometimes Wade just knows that it's better to say nothing; that's why he likes him. He's used to dealing with this, he can do this, he just has to settle down.

 

He sits up straight, shakes his head with his eyes closed, “Okay.”

 

“Fuck, are you sure you're  _ not  _ a cyborg? You just, like, recalibrated and you've DEFINITELY got a Rutger Hauer thing going on,” Wade pauses for a second, like he's thinking, “And your eyes ARE weird.”

 

He's trying to make Bullseye laugh, but the most he can do is smile, kind of weak and pulled thin. And then Wade's cupping his cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over the soft, shadowed skin under his eyes like maybe he was crying.

 

Deep down in his heart, he knows that he scares Wade sometimes, even if that's the last thing he wants. It makes him feel like shit whenever it happens; it's hard to scare someone who's got cancer and knows he's dying.

 

He covers Wade's hands with his own, “I'm gonna get up and change clothes.”

 

Wade nods and lets go of his face, leaves him feeling sort of empty and alone. But Wade follows him when he gets up, heading over to the bedroom. He couldn't sleep there the first week he tried, spent his whole damn life sleeping on the couch, but after dad was gone longer than he'd ever been gone before, he started taking it for his own. Not every night, but most nights.

 

He pulls off his undershirt and Wade wolf-whistles.

 

“Oh, shut  _ up _ , Wade,” Bullseye flips him off and starts digging through the dresser for something relatively clean.

 

“Yeah you're right, that was going too far,” Wade's got that crick in his voice like he's trying not to laugh, “You’ve got too much of a farmer's tan to be  _ truly  _ risque.”

 

He pulls on the best fitting pair of jeans that he's got, leaves them hanging loose on his hips while he keeps digging for another clean undershirt. Sweated all the way through the other one and he's not going to work like that.

 

“God,” Wade sounds all dreamy, sitting on the bed with a dopey grin on his face, “How did I get such a  _ hot _ boyfriend?”

 

Bullseye's pretty sure he's not attractive, but he's not gonna tell Wade that. For one, he's bony in all the wrong ways, girls at school say the only good thing about him is his cheekbones. And he grew all wrong, too. Got a little bit taller and a lot more stretched out. And it sure looks like his body couldn't figure out if he was gonna be flat chested or not, which, according to the girls on his team, just  makes the fact that he's skinny unforgivable instead of 'pretty’.

 

He tucks the undershirt in first and grabs one of the few shirts he's ever bought next. It's long-sleeved and fits him well enough that he can wear it under the stupid polo shirt he has to wear for the grocery store. He doesn't usually put that on until he's at the store, might overheat otherwise.

 

Bullseye makes sure everything's all tucked in before he zips up his pants and does the belt up tight, “You still wanna walk with me?”

 

“Yeah, dude, of course!”

 

* * *

Wade puts the cake away while he's lacing up his shoes. It takes a bit of time because he's trying to keep himself grounded and it's just easy enough that he keeps getting lost in twisting the laces around his fingers.

 

But he gets it done and Wade meets him at the door, puts his jacket on and his hat. They're a good pair, overdressed for the still weirdly warm August evening.

 

There's enough time before work that he  _ can  _ walk with Wade. He walks pretty fast but Wade  _ doesn't _ and most days he just doesn't have that kind of time.

 

They cut through the woods, gives them more time alone, but it kind of reminds him of the dream. Wade doesn't mind when he grabs his hand, though. Just swings it back and forth, holding onto him tight.

 

“You, uh, you ready for school?”

 

It's a weird thing for Wade to ask, but Bullseye shrugs, “As I'll ever be, y'know.”

 

“My mom wants you to come over this weekend,” Wade draws it out, kind of clenching his teeth, “Just for dinner, before school starts. You know how families are.”

 

He doesn't. He  _ really _ doesn't. But Wade doesn't either, he just watches a lot more sitcoms. And the only reason he's acting so weird about it is because he knows  _ Bullseye  _ gets so weird about it.

 

He's  _ not  _ scared of Wade's foster mom, but she's too nice. Makes his skin crawl.

 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, anyway.

 

She usually makes good food, at least. And she might stop letting him around Wade if he doesn't give her a reason to keep trusting him. It'll be fine. He'll be fine.

 

“She likes you,” Wade adds, like he can read his mind, “She wouldn't let you anywhere near her house if she didn't. She didn't even  _ want  _ me dating, dude. She was as bad as a youth pastor! Maybe even  _ worse!” _

 

It doesn't help much, but it's a nice thought. Most people don't like him for one reason or another, or they like him at a distance. Or they're Wade, Elektra too.

 

The rest of the walk is quiet, heavier quiet than usual and he wants to fix it, wants to put things back to where they were before Wade asked him to come over. But he can't, so he just keeps kicking at stray branches and loose rocks and holding Wade's hand.

 

The woods spit them out at Main Street. Only a few blocks from where he needs to be. It's still a nice walk, all things considered.

 

They stop outside of the grocery store, and Wade holds both his hands, looking right into his eyes like Wade's walking him home after a date. He can't help laughing at the situation, squeezing Wade's hands tight.

 

“Is Elektra coming to get you?” Wade worries at his lip.

 

“Nah, but it's fine, I always walk home.”

 

“I  _ know  _ that, B,” Wade rolls his eyes, “But I don't  _ like  _ it. What if you get Texas Chainsaw Massacred? This is, like, Hicksville USA.”

 

Bullseye snorts, “If anything  _ I'm  _ the Texas Chainsaw Massacre...er. I work at the gas station slash restaurant.”

 

That gets Wade laughing, which is nice.

 

“Like  _ you  _ could kill anyone, B! You can't even pick me up and I've got  _ cancer _ ,” Wade must change his mind halfway through the joke because he backtracks real quick, “I'd pay to see you with a chainsaw, though. That'd be fun, I bet half the girls on your team would faint. They already think you're, like, Carrie or some shit.”

 

“God, that’ll be the day,” he laughs, wouldn’t actually do anything like that ‘cos he’d die if he ever got kicked off the team, but it’s a nice thought.

 

“Yeah,” Wade well and truly beams, “That’d show them!”

 

“I have to go,” he hates that this is how things are, “But I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, AND we’re having a toast tomorrow. You pinky promised and I’m holding you to that.”

 

“I don’t break promises,” Bullseye rolls his eyes, he’d be offended if he thought Wade actually meant it.

 

“Cool, I’ll bring candles!”

 

And then Wade leans in and kisses him on the cheek. They break apart pretty quick after that; Wade starts walking back towards his place, turning back once to wave at Bullseye before he slips into the grocery store.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s lucky enough to have a few minutes in the back room before his shift starts. Gives him time to wash his face off in the employee bathroom, cold water, has to keep it together. It’s harder to act like he’s okay when he’s away from Wade, but he managed before meeting him, so he can still manage now. He has to.

 

He tucked the uniform shirt into the back pocket of his pants before he headed out. Now, he’s got it held tight between his fingers, knuckles white from the effort. He’s psyching himself out. This is easy. This is something he does every day. He’s on time, he was  _ early  _ and it’s fine.

 

Pulls the stupid polo shirt on and forces his mind to go blank. There’s a set of rules here, the kind that he’d like to wrap himself up in. He can do this.

 

Next, he gets his nametag off its spot on the shelf, next to everyone else’s names. Alphabetical order, so it’s always pretty close to the left side.

 

Pins it onto his polo shirt, and then he slips back into the bathroom to straighten it. Once, twice, and again out of habit. Then he smiles, the kind he only uses here. Not too much teeth, but not too little teeth either. Friendly, supposedly.

 

_ Hello, My Name is Bennie _

 

(Like Bennie and the Jets, but they wouldn’t let him put that on the nametag.)

 

If they were smart, they’d let him stock shelves. He knows where everything is in the whole damn store and could probably get the entire storeset to make a little more sense. He’s good at that, even if nobody seems to know it. Paths and patterns and cycles and loops. It makes him feel safe.

 

But the stupid owners of the stupid grocery store knows he’s good at math, so he’s stuck as a cashier. Gets change faster than anyone else and doesn’t even need to think about it most times. Feels nice to be the best at something but it doesn’t quite make up for having to talk to so many people.

 

The only saving grace is that there’s only a couple of hours where he might see someone from school. Most everyone else is out with friends during the summer or sleeping on school nights. But he’s there, from six p.m to midnight, almost every night.

 

Wade says he’s not a people person. Most of the time, he doesn’t feel like a person at all.

 

But this is easy. Easier than trying to talk with the girls on his team or the rest of the kids at school or basically anyone other than Elektra and Wade. Everyone who comes through the store barely listens to him anyway and the people who know his dad stopped asking about him a good while back.

 

The owners here like him, too, but neither of them think they’re his friend, so he still gets in trouble if he starts zoning out, starts looking like he might fall asleep. Rarely has the money for coffee and he doesn’t let Elektra buy any for him, so he just has to suck it up and get through the night.

 

He knows everyone who shops here well enough to guess what they’re buying. Keeps track of each item he gets right and tallies up the points at the end of the night. It’s stupid, but it keeps him busy and that’s all he needs. When he’s busy he doesn’t get lost in his thoughts and he doesn’t get distracted and he doesn’t get antsy and anxious and start doing things other people find  _ weird _ .

 

* * *

He finishes out the night with 158 points divvied between 23 people. A little less than most nights, but there were a few people who came through that he’d rarely seen before. But the college is only an hour away in the next city over and you can’t really get there without having to stop through town at least once.

 

It usually gets cold at night, no matter how warm it is during the day, so he keeps the polo shirt on even after he’s punched out and put his nametag up. He kicks around the parking lot a while, trying to warm up. It’ll be easier once he’s walking but he’s just trying to settle down right about now.

 

Wasn’t too anxious during work, but now that there’s nothing left to do, he’s thinking again. He keeps wringing his hands together, pacing under the light of the parking lot lamps, and it’s less about the friction and more about making a loop. The owners have already headed home, too, so there’s no one left to see him like this.

 

He’ll have to go to Wade’s this weekend, have to see his foster mom, have to eat dinner there and act like everything’s fine and he’s not scared out of his mind. He’ll do it, for Wade. Because he wants Wade to like him and wants his foster mom to trust him enough to let them spend so much time together. But so much could go wrong, he could fuck things up a million different ways and that scares  him more than anything.

 

Well, not more than--

 

His fingers are going stiff, starting to hurt like they do just before they go numb. Didn’t think it was that cold, but maybe it is and he’s just  _ that  _ out of it. He’s almost scared that he won’t make it back if he walks home, which doesn’t matter much because Elektra scoops around him on her motorcycle.

 

Of course it’s Elektra. There isn’t anyone else in this small-ass town with a motorcycle. But it still makes him breathe a little easier when she takes off her helmet and shakes out her hair, done up in a bun that really didn’t survive the trip over here.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

“Wade called you, didn’t he?” Bullseye scowls, but he’s thankful, deep down in his heart, “What if I’d already started walking, huh? You’re, like, ten minutes late.”

 

“You are lucky I came to get you at all!” She’s smiling, which says she doesn’t really mean it, “And my study date ran over.”

 

“Did you get some?” He winks, tries to look sly.

 

“I am  _ not  _ telling a teenager if I am “getting” any. I should just leave you here!”

 

“Not fair! You drove all the way here!”

 

Elektra laughs, revs the engine once, “Hurry up, then. I might change my mind.”

 

Bullseye grabs the extra helmet off the back of her bike, puts it on after he’s sitting comfortably behind her, and wraps his arms around Elektra’s waist. Soon as she’s sure he’s holding on tight, she takes off. Even circles around the parking lot a couple of times, just for him.

 

But he’s tired, well and truly exhausted, and nothing quite works as well for calming his nerves as riding around with Elektra. And she never seems to mind when he lays his head against her back, even with the helmet on. Closes his eyes, too, and if the ride to his place was a little bit longer, it’d put him out like a light.

 

The wind’s always cold, dragging over his whole body, worming its way under his jacket. Makes him feel safe, which has to count for something, the way it’s wrapped all the way around him. He loves how he can feel the turns in his gut, even on the loose, wide, curves. It makes him feel whole. Whole and good, from his head to his toes. 

 

He tried to explain it once, but all he got out of it was Elektra calling him ‘without a doubt, the strangest kid I have ever met’ and mussing up his hair.

 

One day, when he’s older, Elektra says she’ll let him drive it. Doesn’t know he can't drive a car, much less a motorcycle, but no one really does.

 

Elektra comes to a stop, turns the key in the ignition and the engine settles down. He sits up, head kind of foggy and spaced out, eyelids still heavy.

 

“Still awake back there?”

 

“Mmhmm,” he says, but it’s not much of a reassurance ‘cos he yawns right after.

 

Then, he pulls off his helmet, slides off the bike. Has to be careful ‘cos his legs don’t much like cooperating when he’s tired. Elektra’s already got her helmet off, already standing next to the bike, by the time he’s managed it. Stands there a second, rubbing at his eyes, before Elektra takes over.

 

Rests her hands on his shoulders and kind of sort of leads him up to the door of his trailer. He almost trips on the tiny front steps and she doesn’t even have to climb up to unlock it for him. He could  do it himself, but he’s barely keeping himself awake and by now, this is their little routine.

 

“Do not fall asleep on the couch,” Elektra gives him a serious look, “Go sleep in your bed.”

 

“‘S not my bed.”

 

“At this point, it is. And it is better than a couch.”

 

“Fine, ‘kay, whatever,“ he stops in the doorway, “G’night. Love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

He always says it first, needs to say it, at this point. In case something goes wrong. In case she doesn’t come back. And even though she never says it first she always says it  _ back.  _ She always always always says it back. Doesn’t know when he even started doing it, they’ve known each other so long.

 

He’s about to shut the door when Elektra raises her voice, makes it carry over the sound of the engine, “Go sleep. Do  _ not  _ get distracted and stay up all night.”

 

“I  _ won’t.” _

 

He doesn't break promises, really doesn't, but it's not always in his control. Sometimes he just can't do it. Ends up lying around awake all night long. But he'll try.

 

It's gotten easier after dad's been gone long enough that the bed doesn't smell like him. Aftershave and whiskey and ash, sharp enough to cut into him. He still doesn't sleep there much, but it really is nicer than the couch.

 

He doesn't bother turning on the lights, knows the whole trailer like the back of his hand. Nothing ever changes and he likes it that way. It's not that he  _ likes  _ the dark, but he wants to have enough money leftover to eat. The way the shadows catch on things sets his teeth on edge.

 

Even though it's cool outside, it's still ridiculously hot inside and even when he cracks a window, it doesn't help much. All it does is make all the noises outside sound like they're inside and he keeps  jumping at them as he tries to get undressed.

 

By the time he's managed to do it, he's sweaty and shaky, weird mix of overheated and shivering from the wind that makes it in. It doesn't feel  _ good _ but he's used to things being like this. Doesn't make him want to lash out any less, like up and screaming might make everything better.

 

But he can't do that. Someone might hear. Might start thinking maybe they oughta do something.

 

Still needs something to take his mind off things, though. There's a little box of cassettes in one of the drawers under the bed. Wade's made him a lot of mixtapes and he feels bad ‘cos half the time the tape deck--which isn't even his, Wade gave it to him-- doesn't even work and the only chance he gets to listen to them is when he's lying in bed, trying not to go completely crazy. Still hasn't even  learned the names of any of the songs.

 

He sits down next to the open drawer, wants to feel steady instead of faint and uncertain. Grabs a tape, doesn't even care which one it is because it's still something to block everything else out.

 

The tape deck's on the little table next to the bed, next to beer bottles he still hasn't moved. He leans over far, slides the tape in the deck and hits play.

 

The audio keeps cutting in and out and he knows it's a short in a wire but he doesn't want to take it apart because that way he might break it and Wade gave it to him and Wade might want it back and then he'd have to admit that he hasn't even listened to most of the tapes. But he's trying to distract himself, can't get caught up in that, has to focus on the music.

 

It's a softer song than usual. Wade likes a lot of loud things because he's loud and he gets more into music than anyone Bullseye’s ever met.

 

And he just kind of  _ feels  _ it for a while, kneeling on the floor in his underwear with his forehead pressed flush against the bed frame.

 

He could fall asleep there, maybe. He’s good at that; sucking it up and dealing. But he’d feel bad, even if there’s no way Elektra would know. So he pulls himself up, onto the bed, leaves the tape deck running. It’s battery powered, so he doesn’t feel bad, feels like he can control how much of his money it’s eating up. And he really does need it to sleep.

 

Not having dad around is easier in a lot of ways, but not when it gets too quiet. Got used to trying to sleep in the little space in the living room carved out for him. Always had the TV on, even if dad was passed out drunk on the couch. If he was lucky, sometimes he’d get to rig up blankets around his bed, but that all but stopped once dad decided he was too old for it.

 

He’s good at putting pieces together, but he really doesn’t have to be in order to get the picture. Dad didn’t much want a kid.

 

It hurts, sometimes. Even though he’s kind of known that all along.

 

But he  _ doesn’t  _ want to cry tonight, so he sprawls out on the bed with a kind of determination and focuses on the music. Can’t get caught up in stupid things, ones that are so abstract they set his teeth on edge. He can do abstract, sometimes, like when he and Wade talk about skipping town, about being grown together. 

 

Even then, Wade says he isn’t very good at it. Says he’s too worried about the money and where they’d go and how they’d make it work. It scares him, not knowing. Like anything could go wrong and he wouldn’t know where they’d end up.

 

Right now, he has goals, destinations, a timetable. The toast, last paycheck before the school year, dinner at Wade’s, start of practice, start of school. It’s all definite and guaranteed and perfect. It’s step by step by step, all building on top of each other as he moves through time.

 

He’ll see Wade and then he’ll go to work and then he’ll count out his money and see how bad off he’s gonna be for the rest of the year. He’s good at making things work, figuring out what goes where and how it’ll all add up. 

 

Besides, nothing will be as bad as that first stretch. He was young, then. Young and stupid. And scared.

 

Wasn’t much food in the house to start with and it wasn’t exactly weird for him to not be in school and he made it about four days before tearing the trailer apart looking for money. There was a little bit, here and there, but most of it was stuff  _ he  _ hid when dad was too out of it to realize there was a dollar or two missing.

 

He damn near pawned dad’s gun, right where it usually is, under the bathroom sink. But Bullseye knew he couldn’t get it back and time and if it was gone when dad came back,  _ well _ . That’d be the end of that.

 

And then the lights went out.

 

And the heat went off.

 

And the sheriff came by and went on yelling about leaving a notice until Bullseye opened the door and then he just looked  _ sad. _ Said he’d give them a few more weeks when Bullseye told him dad wasn’t home, hadn’t been home in a while.

 

And he’s kind of really failed at not crying tonight. He can’t help it, sometimes he just gets caught up in thought after thought after thought and then he can’t breathe.

 

The only reason he won’t be up all night after this is because Wade can always tell when he hasn’t slept. It’s uncanny, he’s always always always right whenever he brings it up.

 

So he tries to settle down, tries to keep thinking about Wade, only Wade, and nothing else. The fact that Wade’s coming over tomorrow, the fact that Wade keeps making mixtapes for him, the fact that Wade’s the only person at school who likes him, the only person who calls him Bullseye.

 

That gets his heart fluttering in a way that  _ doesn’t  _ make him feel like he’s dying. Which is about as good as it gets these days.

 

It’s a pleasant surprise when the tape deck clicks off and he’s too close to sleep to get up and flip the cassette.

 

* * *

He wakes up slowly, basking in the kind of calm you only get when you don’t have an alarm set. Usually gets Thursdays off, ‘cos that’s when he has games, but over the summer, it means he has a whole day to himself. Which makes it one of the only days he ever sleeps past noon.

 

It doesn’t last that long, because next thing he knows, Wade’s outside his window throwing rocks.

 

“Open up!” Wade yells, even though they’re on the same level and he’s like five feet away, “I’m climbing in!”

 

“Wh, huh?” Bullseye lays there, rubbing at his eyes as that takes a few seconds to sink in, “Don’t climb in my window.”

 

“C’mon, it happens  _ all the time  _ in romcoms!”

 

“I don’t want you to break my window, Wade!”

 

“Fine,” Wade actually sounds a little disappointed, “Be boring. See if I care.”

 

“I’m gonna go get the door for you, dude, I’m not telling you to  _ leave _ ,” Bullseye gets up, pulls on the first shirt he can find.

 

Then, he shuffles his way over to the front door because he’s really still tired and Wade could stand to learn to be a little bit patient. Unlocks it and steps back, still yawning into his hand, because he really doesn’t want Wade to hit him with the door.

 

Wade’s  _ so  _ much, but it’s not a bad thing. 

 

Wade swings the door open and all but tackles him in a hug. Doesn’t have any other choice but to ride it out, but Bullseye really doesn’t mind.

 

Bullseye’s still pressed flush against Wade when he stops being the human version of a golden retriever and instead kind of winces.

 

“Errr, did I wake you up?”

 

“Nah, been awake for a while.”

 

“Okay, cool. Then I don’t have to feel bad about doing this.”

 

And then he picks Bullseye up by his waist, spins both of them around a while. Which gets Bullseye laughing and light-headed and a little bit dizzy. It doesn’t feel like a big deal until Wade sets him back down and lets go and he damn near falls over.

 

Wade puts both hands on his shoulders and steadies him, eyes all soft and sweet and concerned-like. He feels really nice, though; butterflies in his stomach and all that. Wade is so sweet, and soft, and nice, and perfect, and wonderful.

 

“Do you wanna come lay down with me?”

 

Wade snorts, one eyebrow raised, “I thought you said you were awake.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not tired, duh.”

 

“Well, you’ve got me there.”

 

Wade makes a whole dramatic show of it when Bullseye takes his hand and heads back to the bedroom. Mimes fainting, the back of his hand to his forehead, acting all scandalized. It’s so unbelievably corny, but it’s cute. 

 

Bullseye flops back down on the bed and Wade kicks off his shoes, but still keeps all his clothes on ‘cos he gets cold so easy. And then Wade joins him, lying down across from him, just looking dead into his eyes. They aren’t quite touching yet, but that’s gonna come soon enough.

 

“I vant to suck your blooood,” Wade lunges forward, goes for his neck and just barely grazes teeth against it before giving what has to be the sloppiest kiss ever.

 

“Dude,” Bullseye laughs, kind of pushes him away, “Gross! Don’t give me hickeys, I gotta work tomorrow!”

 

“What kind of a boyfriend am I if I  _ don’t  _ give you hickeys? That’s, like, a rite of passage!”

 

“Maybe so, but I can’t show up at work like that!”

 

“Fine,” Wade moves on to just holding him, one hand on the place at his hip where his shirt’s ridden up a bit, the other in his hair, legs all tangled together, “Hickeys can wait until you’re not working all the time.”

 

They’re close enough that their noses are touching, and there’s something about the combination of the sunlight and the wind and  _ Wade  _ that gets him feeling sleepy as all get out. Bullseye closes his eyes and smiles and lets one hand aimlessly wander along Wade’s arm, feeling out any new bandaids. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Wade wears them for fun.

 

Now, he’s never had a Talk with his dad, but he’s heard enough about those Talks from the girls on his team to know that this is probably unforgivable. Lisa said her dad pulled a rifle on her boyfriend, said they always think you’re doing something dirty, said there’s all these rules about how close you’re allowed to get and what you’re allowed to touch and how much tongue is too much tongue, said  you don’t ever, ever, let a boy in bed with you unless you want him dead. 

 

Doesn’t seem fair to get in trouble if no one’s told him the rules in the first place, but he knows that’s not how it works.

 

Half the team ganged up on him once word got out that they were fooling around, said a guy like that only wants to get in your pants, thinks you’ll feel bad enough for him that he can talk you into putting out. But it’s not true, and he almost thinks they were jealous because everyone  _ likes  _ Wade and Wade  _ likes  _ him.

 

Wade’s a  _ gentleman _ , though. Nothing like the guys everyone gossips about.

 

Yeah, he’s a bit handsy, but the most they’ve done is make out under the bleachers.

 

They got caught once and word got out and in the locker room, after practice, Angie slapped him on the back, told him she didn’t think he had it in him and to not get pregnant ‘cos he needed to make it to states. After that, he hasn’t been too keen on PDA.

 

“Aren’t naps supposed to be relaxing, B?”

 

Wade’s stroking his back, nice and steady and it kind of scares him that he didn’t realize it was happening until now.

 

“You  _ know  _ I think too much.”

 

“Have you tried turning your brain off and back on again?”

 

“No,” he smiles, just a bit, “I haven’t.”

 

Wade’s looking right at him, trying to read his face, doesn’t look even a bit tired, “What’re you thinking about?”

 

“Lotsa things,” Bullseye sighs, “Work and school and practice and all that. How everyone’s gonna be talking about their summer in the locker room and all I’ve done is work and spend time with you.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 

He worries at his lip, “It’s not. I’m just…  _ boring.  _ And no one really likes me much.”

 

“I like you,” Wade gives him these big puppy dog eyes, completely missing the point.

 

“Yeah, and I like you  _ too _ .”

 

“So then what’s the problem?”

 

He doesn’t want to admit that there’s a  _ problem,  _ but he’s not like Wade. Everyone’s friends with Wade, even if Wade says it’s not as good as it looks because they’re only his friend because he has cancer. Bullseye didn’t even have a single friend until Wade moved here. And now they’re dating, kind of, which knocks him down to one kind of sort of friend and that’s Elektra.

 

“If you don’t think something’s funny, you can always just tell me, B,” Wade runs his hand over Bullseye’s head, nails scratching against his scalp.

 

“It wasn’t  _ not  _ funny,” he says, hates it when he has to do things like this, “I just… It’s not  _ easy  _ being me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Wade sounds all serious and he  _ hates  _ it. Wade always pays attention to everything he says and he’s  _ way  _ too good at figuring out when something’s getting to Bullseye. It’s nice, sometimes, having someone who really really listens to him. But he can’t stand it when people know he’s uncomfortable.

 

“I think maybe we should get up,” Wade adds, still so serious it’s almost scary, “Lying in bed all day only  _ sounds  _ good. Eventually, you just start feeling like shit."

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Bullseye doesn’t make any move to get out of bed, though.

 

Wade gets up first, and then he grabs Bullseye by the leg and makes a whole big show out of dragging him along for the ride. They’re both laughing and he’s playing along, kicking out and trying to not kick Wade in the face in the process. It’s fun, up until Wade pulls a bit hard and Bullseye ends up getting yanked all the way off the bed and onto the floor.

 

And then Wade lets go of him, has this kind of shocked, sad, empty look on his face, like he didn’t think he’d be able to do that so easily. Maybe Elektra’s right, maybe he is getting a mite too scrawny.

 

“So how about that toast, huh?” Wade smiles, but he’s really not good at hiding anything that’s going on in his head, so it’s just crooked and wooden.

 

“Don’t have any clean glasses, but I think mono’s the least of our worries.”

 

Bullseye gets to his feet on his own, doesn’t think it’s worth the risk to let Wade pull him up. They aren’t gonna talk about this, at least not now. There’s a lot of things they aren’t talking about, or don’t  know how to talk about.

 

Wade’s halfway into the kitchen when he whips around, “Oh shit, dude, is the truck still in the right place?”

 

It’s a really stupid question to ask. The truck hasn’t moved, ever. Wade’s never even met dad, not once ever. But they’re both keeping up appearances, aren’t they?

 

“Yeah, it should be. Dad’s all weird about the truck.”

 

“Hell yeah! You’re gonna have to take the cake, ‘cos knowing me, I’ll drop it.”

 

Bullseye still doesn’t want to bother with glasses, but it’s easy to just wipe down the forks from yesterday. Meanwhile, Wade’s at the fridge, staring into it like maybe it’ll tell him the meaning to life.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well,” Wade looks over, “I forgot the fuckin’ candles.”

 

“We don’t need candles,” Bullseye can’t help but laugh, “It’s not my  _ birthday.” _

 

“Shit, that’s gotta be coming up, isn’t it?”

 

He feels really really embarrassed to admit it, but Wade’s already missed his birthday. Well, the span of a few days where he’s pretty sure at least one of them is his birthday. The only reason he knows is because he gets all fucked up and sad and doesn’t want to be around anyone and it’s always happened, every year, as long as he can remember.

 

But he’s pretty sure Wade knows that he gets weird about birthdays, which is why he does things like this every week of the year  _ except  _ for that week.

 

“Yeah,” Bullseye lies through his teeth, “It’s gotta.”

 

“I’ll get you some more mixtapes! Oh! And maybe, like, a VHS for something we haven’t seen fifteen times. And a cake that isn’t as dry as  _ this  _ one.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i took a week off because life has been kicking my ASS (two back to back almost 40 hour weeks at work when i'm SUPPOSED to be part time) but here's chapter 3!!

Bullseye ends up with both the cake  _ and  _ the champagne. 

 

Wade drops the access door and steps up into the bed of the pickup truck, then he offers a completely useless hand to Bullseye. But it’s fine, he can get up without help all while balancing the cake on the same arm as the one holding the champagne and by then, Wade’s already standing on the roof of the cab.

 

It was Wade who figured out that the truck was parked close enough to the trailer that you could climb from the roof of the cab up to the roof of the trailer. It’s a little awkward, but it’s doable.

 

Wade goes first, leaning over until his arms catch on the roof. Swings his legs off the cab after that and starts to pull himself up like he’s trying to get out of a swimming pool. And then Bullseye climbs up on top of the cab, and waits for Wade until he finally makes it all the way up and gets settled. Wade leans back over the edge, takes the champagne and the cake from him.

 

Then it’s his turn to climb up. It’s easier for him, ‘cos he’s actually got upper body strength. Not much, but more than Wade. And he knows just where to put his feet so he can use the top of the living room window as a foothold. He ends up on the roof, flat on his belly. Then he sits up and settles down next to Wade.

 

It’s funny how he never thought about doing things like this until he met Wade.

 

From the top of the trailer, he can see most of the park. Makes him feel good, kind of powerful, to be able to watch everything without anyone realizing he’s doing it.

 

There’s a few kids milling around, couple of them playing games in the spaces between units. Most everyone else is off at work, though. He’s never really stuck out much when there’s so many dirty  looking kids running around. Can’t even tell you which family most of them belong to.

 

He ends up uncorking the champagne while Wade opens up the cake container. It’s not much of a toast when they don’t each have a glass, but it’ll have to do.

 

Bullseye takes the first drink, kind of chokes it back because it’s really not a taste he  _ likes.  _ It’s better than when Elektra gave him a beer because that just tasted exactly how dad smelled and he didn’t even have to get drunk to spend the night in the bathroom puking his guts out. She was nice about it, though. Hasn’t brought over beer since.

 

“Don’t hog it all,” Wade laughs, taking the bottle from him and taking an even longer swig of it.

 

“You won’t let me, like, get all angry, will you?”

 

He’s never gotten angry when he’s drinking, mostly just gotten sad. But he knows it’s a possibility and that almost never lets him have any fun when he’s doing it. Which is why he really only does this when he’s around Wade or Elektra.

 

“Of course, B. I don’t think I’ve  _ ever  _ seen you get angry.”

 

Which is true, Wade hasn’t seen him get angry. But that’s not because he  _ isn’t  _ angry. 

 

It’s because he doesn’t want Wade to be scared of him, or disappointed, or anything like that. Just a month before Wade moved here, he almost got suspended for knocking one of his teammates out cold during practice, but no one could prove it  _ wasn’t  _ a freak accident and no one wanted to get sued ‘cos she really shoulda been wearing a helmet.

 

And he really did feel bad about it, it felt good up until the ball hit her head and then there was this terrible, terrible crack and she’d just crumpled to the ground. And everyone was looking at him, wasn’t even looking at  _ her,  _ and the next thing he knew, he was in the principal’s office, knees hugged up to his chest, crying so hard he could barely breathe.

 

But that’s in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore and no one ever figured out he did it on purpose.

 

“Just promise me, okay?”

 

Wade rests a hand over his chest, looks like a fucking boy scout, “Cross my heart, hope to die…”

 

“C’mon dude, I’m being serious.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m being serious  _ too!” _

 

The champagne is definitely getting to him; Wade always gets all giggly and goofy and it’s cuter than cute. Bullseye takes the bottle from him, gulps down another long drink in the hopes that maybe he’ll just settle down and think a little less. But that doesn’t really work, so he just ends up lying down flat on his back, legs dangling off the edge of the trailer and arms sprawled out and eyes squeezed shut.

 

“It’s times like this I  _ really  _ wish we had a soundtrack,” Wade sounds all wistful about it, too.

 

But it isn’t enough to get Bullseye to open his eyes, “Yeah? But  _ why?” _

 

“Cos this is, like, almost  _ perfect,”  _ Wade shifts around, shakes the whole damn trailer in the process, but he ends up lying down right next to him, back of his head resting against Bullseye’s arm, “Just imagine if we had a little ‘Power of Love’ goin’ on right now.”

 

 “We are  _ not  _ Back to the Future,” Bullseye scoffs, “That was, like, his mom, dude.”

 

“Okay, fine. ‘You Take My Breath Away’, like in Top Gun. That’s what would make this perfect.”

 

“Yeah, alright. I’ll give you that.”

 

His arm is absolutely going to fall asleep in under five minutes, but for now, he just bends it as best he can to rest his palm on Wade’s chest. And then Wade covers it with his own, fingers drumming on the back of Bullseye’s hand.

 

“You gonna be ready for this weekend?” Wade asks, finally breaking the silence after a few minutes.

 

Bullseye’s surprised he made it that long without saying anything, he talks  _ a lot  _ but sometimes that’s nice. Fills the space, makes things feel less alone.

 

“I’m workin’ Saturday  _ and  _ Sunday morning, but I’ll be there Sunday night.”

 

Wade walks his fingers all the way up Bullseye’s arm, ends up poking him in the cheek, “You can invite Elektra, too. If you want. She’s  _ way  _ scarier than my foster mom and you’re fine around  _ her. _ ”

 

He’s pretty sure Wade thinks Elektra’s his sister. He knows damn well that’s what Wade’s foster mom thinks. A lot of people think that, mostly out of townies who moved here and haven’t spent generation upon generation in the same damn town. It’s kind of funny, sometimes, ‘cos they really don’t look alike. He’s pasty and thin and blond and she’s tan and stacked and got black hair all the  way down to her hips, not to mention a good foot and a half of height on him.

 

“I’m not  _ scared  _ of your foster mom, Wade.”

 

“Yeah, you are,” Wade elbows him in the side, “You’re like, uh. You know in The Thing? When Kurt Russell, like, keeps sticking the burning hot paper clip in everyone’s blood? That’s you every time you say anything at dinner. You’re waiting for her to go all Jon Carpenter and start melting and trying to absorb you so she can become you. And I’m just saying, it’s cool if you wanna bring a flame thrower.”

 

“And  _ Elektra’s  _ the flame thrower?”

 

“Well fuck, man, who else would it be?”

 

He can’t help but laugh at that. A nice, full laugh, one that he can absolutely feel in his belly. If Elektra was the kind of person who  _ went  _ to normal high schools like the rest of the world, she would’ve had ‘most likely to get arrested for arson’ under her portrait, smiling all sweetly and not a hair out of place.

 

But that’s an  _ idea.  _ One he’ll have to roll around in his head for a while. He kind of really doesn’t want to invite her over to Wade’s place for a family dinner but he  _ might.  _ If he can talk himself into asking her.

 

Bullseye rolls over on his side, ignoring the pins and needles in his arm, so he can actually look at Wade, “She’s got college shit, and, like, a boyfriend. I dunno if she’d even want to come.”

 

“Well, then tell her that I want her to come! And that I want her to take me for a ride on her motorcycle. She’ll have to do it, I’m lovable, spunky, and I’ve got terminal cancer.”

 

“I think your foster mom would kill her if she even let you  _ sit  _ on her motorcycle.”

 

“Nah,” Wade grins, “She’s cool. She’s a lot cooler than you think she is. She used to be in a band, like Joan fuckin’ Jett. Did you know that? I’ll have to get the photo album when you come over because it’s  _ awesome. _ ”

 

Truth is, Bullseye doesn’t really know much about what having a mom, foster or otherwise, is like. He’s kind of just guessing and hoping he hits the target.

 

“And she’s a lot nicer, too,” Wade adds, “Really. I’m not saying this like she’s a sitcom mom and we all have to root for her because that’s her character type, because she’s not. Life’s not a sitcom and sometimes people are actually  _ good _ .”

 

He’s a little more keen to believe that coming from Wade. Just a little.

 

“I’ll ask Elektra to come. Since you want her to.”

 

“Good! She can have her own little subplot about, like, I dunno, not letting vampires date my foster mom?”

 

“She’s not my sister, dude. We’ve been over this.”

 

“Well, that doesn’t cancel out the fact that she’s one: sexy, two: has a motorcycle, and three: could TOTALLY impale Kiefer Sutherland if she put her mind to it,” Wade counts out each statement on his fingers.

 

“Ew,” Bullseye wrinkles his nose, kind of grimaces, “Don’t call Elektra  _ sexy.” _

 

“Hah!” Wade kicks his shin, not hard enough to hurt, “She’s  _ totally  _ your sister!”

 

He rolls his eyes, “Whatever you say, dude.” 

 

It’s easier not to argue, not to set the record straight, because if he really ever got through to Wade, then Wade might accidentally tell someone that Bullseye doesn’t actually have any family other than dad. And he really doesn’t want to get investigated, or taken away, or anything like that. He’s not sure he’d be able to live anywhere else than  _ home. _

 

It’s hard, but he’s trying to just enjoy being here with Wade. Not thinking about anything else, even if that’s an uphill battle. So he just sort of traces his fingers over Wade’s cheeks, which gets Wade giggling and it might just be the champagne but he swears he can feel it all the way up his arms.

 

“You know what, B?” Wade pokes his nose,  “I love you. No matter what.”

 

He really doesn’t know why that makes him feel as sad as it does.

 

But it doesn’t last long because Wade sits up and stretches out and dips down to kiss him kind of sort of on the cheek, like Wade wasn’t sure what to aim for, which is enough to get Bullseye out of his own head. He sits up after that, scrubbing at his eyes for a second because he really could’ve fallen asleep up there, and Wade drapes his arms over Bullseye’s shoulders. 

 

Gets this big dopey grin on his face and leans in like he’s looking for another kiss, “Do I smell like I robbed a liquor store?”

 

“You smell a little like champagne,” Bullseye shrugs.

 

“Damnit!” Wade shakes a fist at the sky, “I wanted to build my rep! How else am I gonna make people be scared of me?”

 

“It’s not all that fun, Wade.”

 

“Says  _ you!  _ I wanna be fuckin’ Robocop. No one messes with him.”

 

“You say that like  _ anyone  _ would actually mess with you,” he can’t help laughing, even when Wade frowns and looks all sad.

 

“Well, I could get people to stop messing with  _ you.  _ Because I’m your  _ boyfriend  _ and I’d get to have a total heroic moment where I go HAM and scare off all the school bullies and then we’d freeze frame kiss and the credits would roll!”

 

“Wade, you’re  _ so  _ fuckin’ dumb,” he grins, all the way, teeth showing and eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Yeah? And you love it!”

 

“Yeah, I do. I do.”

 

* * *

They get down off the roof not too long after that, hanging around in the bed of dad’s truck a while. Wade’s getting handsy in the way he always does whenever he’s about to head home, damn near stradling Bullseye, who’s got his back pressed against the window into the interior of the cab, and just holding onto his face.

 

“It’s gonna get dark soon,” Wade thumbs over Bullseye’s cheeks as he says it, even though they’ve got an hour or two left of sun.

 

He looks up at Wade, doesn’t usually look at anyone’s eyes unless they’re awful special, “Want me to walk you home?”

 

“If my foster mom doesn’t want  _ me  _ walking home in the dark, she definitely wouldn’t want  _ you  _ walking home in the dark. She might try and make you spend the night.”

 

“And we all know how well that worked out last time,” Bullseye shudders.

 

He’d wanted to stay the whole night through, really did, but he couldn’t get to sleep and he’d ended up wandering around like he always does and by the time he got back, he’d never seen Wade’s foster mom look so scared. Like maybe she  _ cared  _ about where he’d been. And that just got  _ him  _ scared and he’d bolted and he can’t believe she’d want him back but she  _ does. _

 

“One day we’ll get there,” Wade laughs, “And then you’ll finally understand the wonders of cable TV.”

 

“I  _ have  _ cable, Wade.”

 

“You’re highjacking it off the neighbors!” He’s at least got the sense to stage whisper as he throws his hands up in outrage, “You might as well call it breakfast TV because that shit is  _ scrambled! _ ”

 

“That’s,” Bullseye has to take a second to choke back laughter, hiding a smile behind is hand, otherwise it might go to Wade’s head, “That’s a  _ really  _ terrible joke.”

 

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!”

 

“Booooo, get off the  _ stage,”  _ took a while, but he’s finally figured out how to play along with Wade’s bits.

 

“Just you wait and see,” Wade huffs, crosses his arms, “One of us is gonna be a successful stand-up comedian and it’s  _ not  _ gonna be you, B.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cos I’m gonna be in the Olympics, duh.”

 

It’s easy to joke about that because it’s realistic. He’s the best on the team and he’s already getting offers from colleges, ones that would pay for  _ everything  _ so long as he keeps being good at what he does. He’s got all the letters tucked away in a drawer somewhere; hasn’t replied to a single one of them.

 

“Now  _ that’s  _ one for the headlines!” Wade’s damn near beaming, “We’ll be America’s favorite new power-couple for sure!”

 

“Think we’ll still be together by then?”

 

“Yeah,” Wade runs his hands over Bullseye’s cheeks a time or two before leaving them there, kind of firm but gentle, “Of course. We’re  _ always  _ gonna be together.”

 

“Gross,” he smiles against Wade’s palms, “You’re gross. And you watch too many romcoms.”

 

“Leave me  _ alone,  _ they know how to satisfy the cravings of my soul in a way no other genre can manage!”

 

“ _ Grossss _ ,” he’s still smiling, though.

 

Sometimes it’s easy to tell Wade he loves him, sometimes it’s hard. But he thinks Wade knows. Wants to make sure of it, so he leans forward and hugs him as tight as he can, smushing his face against Wade’s neck and just sort of staying there.

 

“As much as I’d like to stay here until we’re as rusted as this truck,” Wade’s drawing little circles on his back, slow and smooth, “I really should head home.”

 

“You could stay here, with me,” he’s kind of halfway talking into Wade’s skin, “We can live together like we always talk about.”

 

“I have a  _ mom _ , B. And we’re still teenagers. And this town is so small, I don’t think I can go a day without running into you somewhere. It’s not like we’re never gonna see each other again.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” he sighs and starts to disentangle.

 

He doesn’t want to tell Wade how hard it is to be alone sometimes, because that’ll get him worried and then he’ll be even more insistent that Bullseye start staying over at his place or he’ll keep on calling Elektra and getting her to come babysit. So he plays like he’s clingy, one of the girls who acts like her boyfriend’s going off to war when he’s heading to third period.

 

Wade gets off of him, messes up his short shock of hair once before jumping down from the bed of the pickup truck. Looks like he’s ready to start walking home and Bullseye’s chest hitches; it’s too soon, even if they’ve wasted half the day, it’s too soon. So he leans over the side of the truck, arms resting against the peeling paint.

 

“Wade, wait!”

 

Wade circles back, stops dutifully in front of him, looking up all excited-like.

 

“You forgot something!” And Bullseye leans down just enough to give him a quick kiss on the forehead, pulls back just as fast, “I promise we’ll go on a real date before school starts. Your choice and I’ll pay for it and everything. You have ‘til Sunday, so pick fast.”

 

“Not fair, B! You know I can’t make decisions that fast! We’ll just end up watching Golden Girls reruns while you try to put yourself in a sugar coma for the sixteenth time!”

 

“Well,” Bullseye laughs, “If that’s what you wanna do…”

 

“It’s  _ not  _ what I wanna do! It just keeps happening!”

 

“C’mon, I’m sure you’ll think of something, Wade.”

 

Wade snorts, kind of beaming in a way that totally counteracts the anguished tone he has, “You say that like the inside of my brain isn’t playing the Jeopardy theme 24/7!”

 

“Well, you better think fast because you don’t have the option to phone a friend!”

 

“Fuck you!” Wade laughs, “You just want me to make the decisions because you hate making decisions too!”

 

“Oh, wow, I didn’t know I couldn’t let my boyfriend pick where he wants to go on a date,” he replies, dry as he can.

 

“At least give me some options to work with, babe!”

 

The truth is, he doesn’t really have any ideas outside of just going to see a movie, which isn’t exactly a super special date save for the fact that he’s barely ever got money to just play around with.

 

“I’ll give you some help,” he says, figures maybe Wade won’t realize he’s just as hopeless at this, “On Sunday, if you haven’t figured anything out by then.”

 

“Okaaaaayyy. I’ll agree to that,” Wade points at him, “Unfuck you. I cast I Love You, roll for initiative.”

 

“We’ve never even played DND, dude,” Bullseye laughs, smile hidden behind his hand.

 

Wade makes this noise like a time out buzzer, “ERRRNZ! You did  _ not  _ roll high enough. You are affected with I Love You for the next five turns.”

 

“I love you,  _ too,  _ you beautiful dumbass! Now  _ please  _ go home before your foster mom hates me for keeping you out past your totally lame curfew.”

 

"Wow, Bullseye, it's almost like you  _ want  _ me to leave!"

 

"I don't, I don't want you to leave," there's this terrible hitch in his voice that's gonna make Wade realize he doesn't think it's a funny joke, and he hates it.

 

"You know I'm just kidding, right, B?"

 

"Yeah, yeah," he says, tries to swallow down the clawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, "I know. I know, I know."

 

But it's hard. Before Elektra and Wade, he was sure everyone hated him. Why else would everything be like this?

 

"It's okay, B. I won't joke like that anymore."

 

That just makes him feel worse; sick and anxious and terrible. Like he's making Wade change because he's too fucked up to handle a joke. 

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Between jobs."

 

He's smiling as he says it, really wants to get across the fact that he's not mad, he just  _ can't  _ talk about this. 

 

"Great," Wade throws a fist up in the air, "It's a  _ date!" _

 

And then Bullseye waves him off and waits until Wade's out of view before lying down flat in the bed of the pickup truck, palms digging into his eyes. Wade's known for years that he's broken somewhere deep down inside, but it hurts so bad whenever Wade gets close to seeing it.

 

And he's just trying to suck in air, feels like every sinew in his body is stretched to the point of breaking. He knows he wants people to pay attention to him, always has, but it's  _ hard  _ all the same.

 

* * *

He's still kind of wallowing, half aware of the world around him, when the sound of an engine scares the shit out of him. Makes him tense up like he's paralyzed, still lying down.

 

It shuts off soon after that and then Elektra's standing next to the truck, looking down at him with her helmet still on.

 

"Bullseye, what are you  _ doing?" _

 

He groans, rolls over onto his side so he isn't looking at her, "Waiting to  _ die. _ "

 

"No. No dying. You are not allowed to do that."

 

"There's still some cake left if you want some," he says, forces a subject change.

 

It's probably not  _ good  _ anymore, been sitting in the truck bed melting next to him since Wade left. At least they covered it up, so it should still be fit for human consumption instead of belonging to the ants.

 

"I will pass, thank you."

 

The truck kind of shakes and he's aware that she's getting into the bed as well. He can feel her sitting behind him, the tentative touches on his back.

 

"How long have you been out here?" She asks all soft-like, fingers cool against the nape of his neck.

 

"A while. Dunno for sure. Since Wade left."

 

"You are going to give yourself heatstroke."

 

The way she says it is even, matter of fact. Isn't mad at him, doesn't feel bad for him. Just thinks he oughta know. It's nice, not getting chided or pitied.

 

"Let's go inside."

 

He nods, kind of stiffly, and sets to getting up. It's not easy, like his joints locked up while he was lying there. Elektra jumps down from the truck, gets a bag off the back of her bike while he stands up. Takes a lot out of him to ignore the pins and needles in his legs, but he manages it.

 

Back inside, the box fan is enough to get him shivering. He flops down on the couch, watches Elektra heading to the kitchenette.

 

She sets the bag on the counter, only open space in the whole room and he leaves it clean just for her. Elektra gets to work pulling out different foods, laying them all out before trying the stove top.

 

He knows he's paid rent, and rent covers gas and water and electricity, but every time someone tries the stove, his heart ends up in his throat. Like maybe it won't work and everyone will know he's stretched too thin.

 

But it clicks on and Elektra turns on the ventilation fan.

 

"What if I had not been here? Hm? Would you have spent the whole night out there?"

 

It's nothing he hasn't done before, but that's a secret.

 

"I am  _ not  _ your mother--"

 

"I  _ know-- _ "

 

She holds up a hand to stop him, "I am not your  _ family _ , either, and I do  _ worry  _ about you but half of the year I am all the way across the globe and not a day goes by where I do not worry that I will come back and you will be  _ dead. _ "

 

That shuts him up, leaves him arms crossed and face twisted up in a scowl because if he wasn't doing  _ that _ , he'd be crying. He can already feel the tears welling up in his eyes, hates that he's making her feel like this.

 

"I do this because I  _ care  _ about you, but you are  _ going  _ to put me into an early grave. You do not think and you do not seem to care about anything that happens to you."

 

"I'm  _ sorry,"  _ his voice cracks at that, like he's been caught doing something wrong, like he's been bad, like he's hurting her.

 

"You are _not_ sorry! Otherwise you would not _do_ these things!" She stops what she's doing, head hung and her hands gripping the counter like it's the only thing keeping her from drifting away, "You are a stupid, insolent _child_ but I still will care about you. Always."

 

He could make excuses, could tell her how he didn't know how long it'd been, could tell her about the times he's been cold and hungry and still made it out. But that feels wrong, feels like a cop out.

 

Elektra wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and straightens up, "Come help with dinner."

 

He doesn't have it in him to complain. Normally couldn't stand her buying him food, but there's something significant about this. Means she's really telling the truth when she says she still cares.

 

So he gets up and heads over to the kitchenette and hopes he doesn't look  _ too _ sad. It hurts a lot to think about, but maybe he's just too much trouble and she'll leave him to live on his own.

 

But she doesn't tell him she's leaving, doesn't say he's too much work. He sets to washing his hands next to her and when he's really lost in it, she pulls him in close, with one hand pressed tight but gentle to the side of his neck, kisses him right on the temple.

 

"This is  _ not _ a fight, do you understand that?" she says, and then she ruffles his hair, "You are in charge of cutting everything up."

 

He nods and hops to it. Starts washing off the vegetables she's brought along while she digs around in his cupboards. Pulls out a frying pan that looks a mite too nice to actually be his, but he’s pretty sure she didn’t have it in the bag when she brought it in.

 

Elektra sets it on the stove top, throws in a nice slice of butter while he’s chopping up carrots. She’s made him some Greek dishes before, but he was never too keen on them. Elektra had just laughed and said he had a very limited palette and hasn’t made him anything like that since. 

 

Bullseye does just what he’s told, gets all the vegetables chopped and ready to go and that means it’s time to start on the meat, but there’s something about flesh and blood that just sets him off. Gets him all nervous and antsy and Elektra must’ve noticed it somewhere along the way because he doesn’t even have to ask her to take the knife.

 

He ends up back on the couch while she takes care of the meat and when she throws everything in the pan and it starts to sizzle, he finally realizes just how hungry he is. Might’ve been out there in the back of the truck even longer than he thought.

 

"I'm really glad you're here," he says, kind of small and private, "I'm sorry I scare you all the time."

 

"I  _ love _ you," she states it like there was ever any question, "I just need you to think before doing something. I need you to ask yourself if it is a good idea or if it will get you hurt."

 

"I  _ understand,"  _ he huffs, knows he should be more careful, shouldn't go out wandering when he can't sleep or skip meals.

 

"I don't think you do, Bullseye. But we can leave it for tonight, okay?"


	4. Chapter 4

He doesn’t have an actual dinner table, hasn’t for a long while. Dad broke the old one on one of his bad nights and it never got fixed and they never got another one and now he’s just sitting on the couch with Elektra next to him as they pick away at dinner.

 

He’d ask Elektra to come with him to Wade’s place on Sunday, but that’s tricky now. She loves him, she  _ said that.  _ And she cares about him, said that too. But she’d also said that they’re  _ not family _ and that’s exactly why Wade and his foster mom want her to come along.

 

But he feels like he should at least tell her that, tell her what people think and hope she doesn’t get too mad that he lets them think it. There’s this sick sort of weight in the pit of his stomach and he knows he won’t be able to eat unless he says  _ something.  _ But that’s hard. Always has been.

 

“Elektra?” He steels himself, hopes she doesn’t actually look at him, “I, uh. Well, Wade wanted me to ask you if, if, if you’d like to come over for dinner on Sunday.”

 

She just purses her lips, like she’s considering it. Or like she knows there’s something else he wants to say. It’s hard to tell with her, she’s cool and mysterious and he still hasn’t managed to figure out her tells.

 

“I think Wade’s foster mom thinks you’re my sister.”

 

And then he tenses up, waits for the fallout.

 

But there isn’t any, Elektra just laughs. 

 

Not like she’s laughing at him, but not like she’s laughing with him either. He doesn’t really get it and it kind of sets his teeth on edge and that gets him biting at his nails like he always does when something doesn’t  _ fit. _

 

“I  _ will  _ be there,” she says, “If you need me.”

 

“I don’t  _ need  _ you.”

 

It’s one of the first times ever that he hopes she can see right through him.

 

“Ask Wade what time the dinner starts. I make no guarantees.”

 

“Yeah, alright.”

 

He’s known Elektra long enough to get that that’s as good as a yes when it comes to her. And he feels good about it, kind of happy and maybe even excited. Especially since she isn’t mad at him. He can count on one hand the number of times she’s been  _ actually  _ mad at him.

 

* * *

They finish up and he takes care of the dishes and then Elektra hugs him tight before she heads back to her apartment. It’s everything playing out like normal other than the not-fight they had. Maybe it wouldn’t be as big of a deal to everyone else, but how out of left field it was makes him all antsy.

 

Bullseye tries to push it all out of his mind while he’s in the shower. Works fast and efficient at getting clean because he wants to keep payments down as much as he can, but he doesn’t want to get up and go to work all sweaty and gross tomorrow.

 

Already knows that he spent too much time lying around today and that it’s gonna make it hard to actually get to sleep, but the most he can do is try. Seems like he’s either sleeping too much or not enough and he’s never been able to find a nice balance in between things.

 

He doesn’t even bother drying off all the way, just lies down in dad’s bed with his hair damp and his shirt sticking to his back. It’ll help cool him off, he’s hoping. Used to get summer colds real bad, but that hasn’t been the case in a while. Shuts the window, just in case.

 

But sleep doesn’t come easy and he keeps on jerking awake and checking to make sure his alarm’s set each time he’s almost made it there. It’s set, each and every time he checks, but there’s something eating him up inside that keeps thinking about what’ll happen if he doesn’t wake up on time.

 

Must’ve dozed off somewhere along the way because the next time he jerks upright, the alarm’s going off. He didn’t really dream, at least not anything he can remember, which is nice. 

 

It’s easier in the summer when the mornings are light enough to see by. Makes getting out of bed less of a struggle. He’s never been one to look forward to winter, supposes it might be fun if the trailer actually stayed warm.

 

The gas station doesn’t have a uniform, which speeds up the process of getting ready. Underwear, undershirt, pants, long sleeve, short sleeve, jacket. He gets cold awful easy and it’s a habit. Keeps people from asking too many questions.

 

Breakfast’s cold leftovers straight out of the container and he eats it sitting cross-legged on the counter. It’s not exactly quicker that way, but for some reason he keeps on doing it.

 

He makes sure to brush his teeth, always does because he hasn’t managed to quiet down the voice of guilt in the back of his mind left over from the one damned time Elektra dragged him to a dentist and paid for two fillings on the spot with cash. Pulled  _ more  _ than enough to cover it out of her purse like it was the easiest thing in the world.

 

So he’s careful now, that way he doesn’t owe her anything.

 

Then he kicks on his boots and starts walking. Always along the road, doesn’t usually cut through the woods when he’s alone. Sometimes people along the way offer to drive him and he knows most everyone in town but he never seems to take ‘em up on the offer.

 

The main reason he started eating breakfast at home was so he could turn down the owner without feeling bad about it. He’d feel worse if he actually took Miss Sadie up on her offer, always tries to give him something to eat when he gets in for his shift. Can’t abide by letting people help him.

 

He can stomach it from Elektra but not much of anyone else.

 

She still tries to offer him the first of the day’s hot-dogs when he gets there, though. And he still turns it down, like he always does.

 

She gets him to take food sometimes, only if he still pays for most of it. Gives him half off, most of the time, which is better than the grocery store.

 

* * *

 

 

The shift goes slowly. Usually the only people coming through in the mornings are regulars on their way out of town for work or travelers passing through. People only ever stop in to pay for the pumps and that’s too short of a time to make a game out of it.

 

But he gets to stock the shelves and he likes that and she always pays him for his whole shift even if there’s not much to do. 

 

When there’s a long stretch without anyone stopping in, he gets lost in it. Puts everything back in its proper spot and fetches as much as he can to restock it and ends up circling around the small shop over and over to make sure it’s all perfectly organized. She’d questioned him a time or two before realizing that he was  _ efficient  _ and she’s just let him do it since.

 

Close to the end of things, Miss Sadie comes up and taps him on the shoulder and it fits in nicely with the gas station patterns, so he doesn’t even flinch.

 

“Shift’s almost over, Bennie.”

 

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, got it.” 

 

And he finishes out his loop, comes up to the counter and leans against it, arms crossed and head resting on them. Watches her sideways as she’s counting out his drawer. He’s always even, always has been good with numbers.

 

After he’s punched out, she slips off to the back, comes out with his paycheck.

 

“You’re a good kid, you know that? And this is your last year, right? Don’t throw it all away.”

 

Elektra’s the only one who gets to tell him shit like that but she’s got his paycheck and he’s pretty sure she won’t hand it over until he promises to be good and study hard and not drop out or flunk out or up and die one way or another.

 

“I will,” he says, smiling at her all sweet-like, “I promise.”

 

(The truth is, he probably would’ve stopped going to school if it wasn’t the only thing keeping him sane. But no one needs to know that. Couldn’t cope with only working, isn’t predictable enough.)

 

And she slides him over the paycheck.

 

He takes it, gets the hell outta dodge. The bank should just be opening back up after lunch, usually is once his gas station shift’s over.

 

Now, he doesn’t have a bank account. Couldn’t find the right paperwork to open one if he wanted to. He’s not entirely sure that he’s even got a birth certificate. 

 

Dad does, but things get tricky if he tries to forge checks. Not that he  _ hasn’t _ , didn’t matter much when he was too young to write all that good on account of dad being drunk all the time, but since he’s been man of the house, so to speak, he’s been paying for everything with cash.

 

But there’s only the one bank in town and most of the tellers know dad, half of them used to go drinking with him, and that means they know Bullseye, so they cash his checks for free even without an account so long as he keeps on paying dad’s debts as much as he can.

 

He’s been doing it so long, even before he was holding down the fort, that he’s not sure dad knows about the debts. Seems like there’s so much and he never manages to make a dent in it.

 

There isn’t a line at all when he gets in and the teller takes his check right away, starts counting out his money.

 

“Any word from your old man, Bennie?”

 

“Naw,” he makes a vague gesture, like he’s not too worried about it, “But the phone’s been off and on lately. He always comes back, though.”

 

“He’s just got a rambling soul. One day you’ll get it.”

 

The teller counts out his money, but he doesn’t listen too closely. Always gets him worried when he thinks about money and he prefers to do that in the privacy of his own home. After it’s all laid out on the countertop, the teller takes a couple bills to go towards the debts. Then, he tucks the rest into an envelope and hands it off to Bullseye.

 

* * *

On the walk home, he holds it tight to his chest, all nice and careful. He’s never been robbed before but Elektra told him it happens in the city and just the idea is enough to set his teeth on edge. So he keeps a close eye on his money and makes sure to never end up anywhere too isolated.

 

Back home, he locks the door behind him and heads on in to the bedroom.

 

All the rest of his money is under the mattress; a hole in the outer covering opened up a while back and he’s been hiding it in there ever since.

 

He’s gonna have to count it all, which he never likes much. Always feels like there’s less of it than there oughta be and gets him feeling all sick and scared and worried. But he needs to know how bad off he’ll be during the school year, when he’s working less and paying for more and he really, really, wants to be able to pay for whatever wildcard date Wade comes up with.

 

There’s a little under two hundred left from this paycheck. Doesn’t make much at either of his jobs and he’s getting paid every other week, so he’s gotta be careful.

 

That gets added to the rest of his money, comes out to about five hundred and twenty five dollars all together. It’ll cover a month of rent, maybe two, if something goes horribly, catastrophically wrong.

 

But that’s not counting food for the rest of the month or the date with Wade, so it’s really more of one month’s rent just in case, something resembling an emergency fund, and a little bit left over to use for day to day life.

 

He counts the bills out into stacks. 

 

Two hundred and forty for rent, just in case. 

 

Two hundred for if something goes wrong, something needs to get fixed, he gets sick or hurt or ends up in trouble. 

 

Sixty for food for the rest of August, start of September. 

 

Twenty five set off to the side for Wade. 

 

He doesn’t have to worry about rent until early September, which gives him time to earn enough to avoid digging into that money all that much. But during the school year, he really only gets four hours per job, four days a week if he’s lucky.

 

He’ll have to dig into the sixty bucks, or the emergency fund, or something for school supplies, though. Doesn’t need much, but he’s committed enough to keep his grades as high as they need to be so he can stay on the softball team. It’s really the only thing that makes him happy other than Wade, ‘cos it’s the only thing he’s the best at.

 

But he can worry about that later, he can usually skate by the first week or two and if he lets Elektra even get a hint that he’s worried, she’ll show up with a bag full of notebooks and pens and shit and he does  _ not  _ want that to happen.

 

He’ll manage it. He always does.

 

And he just needs to take it a day at a time. Get through his second job tonight, then do the same for Saturday, then work in the morning and go to Wade’s for dinner on Sunday. Anything after that doesn’t matter until he’s made it past Sunday.

 

* * *

 

He eats the very last of the leftovers from Elektra before heading off to his second job. Wade’s not there to walk him over and that means he won’t have to know that Bullseye’s walking home alone and that makes everything a little bit easier. Wade worries too much about him and some of it’s probably warranted but it sure doesn’t make him feel  _ good  _ about it.

 

Anyway, he doesn’t get paid for this job until next week and by then, he’ll already be starting school back up, so it won’t help him too much when it comes to figuring out how he’s gonna scrape by.

 

And he’s not all that focused on work, but he’s not zoned out enough to make any mistakes because mistakes get you fired and the other girl from his high school who worked here got fired ‘cos she kept making mistakes on her drawer and eventually the owners had to admit that it looked pretty suspect. He’s a good kid, at least that’s what Elektra tells him, but he’d be fucked if people start  thinking he looks suspect.

 

Until dad comes home, he’s living on his own. And he’s still young enough that he’s really not supposed to be living on his own, so if people start thinking he looks suspect, they might start prying. And if people start prying, then he’ll get CPS breathing down his neck and he doubts Elektra will be able to save him from that.

 

Even if people think they’re related, the paperwork’s gonna say otherwise and then it’ll all be over. But he’s gotta calm down so he can make it through the night. When he first started out, he was a little bit concerned that he might not be able to handle working.

 

But he’s made it so far, even if he’s so damn caught up in his head that the other cashier comes on over to stand in front of Bullseye and snaps his fingers.

 

“Hey, hey,” the cashier snaps again, “Earth to Bennie. You in there?”

 

“Yeah, jackass, of course I am,” he spits back.

 

Usually, he’s not this mean, but he’s in a mood and money always gets him worked up and he doesn’t play nice with others when he’s worked up. He’s gonna have to snap out of it before practice starts up again, though.

 

“Well why don’tcha sue me,” the cashier rolls his eyes, hands thrown up, “Just thought you’d want a heads up before you fall asleep on the clock,  _ jeezus _ .”

 

“I wasn’t gonna fall asleep.”

 

“Sure looked like it!”

 

And that just makes Bullseye cross his arms and wrinkle his nose and he ends up snarling a little bit because there’s nothing he hates more than people being able to tell when he’s freaking out.

 

It doesn’t exactly make him feel  _ weak,  _ so much as it makes him feel all pathetic and useless and like he can’t even make it seem like he’s got his shit together.

 

* * *

He’s in a shitty mood for most of the rest of the night, but he doesn’t have to talk to all that many people so it really doesn’t matter too much. But focusing on being pissed off gives him something to do other than zone out thinking about how much his life sucks and how tired he is, so it all works out okay.

 

Elektra isn’t there to drive him home, which is what he expected since Wade didn’t know that he was going to work so Wade couldn’t call her. Still, even if he expected it, he didn’t quite think through the reality of spending a whole walk home alone with his thoughts.

 

He sticks to the road, doesn’t want to cut through the woods unless he has to because he really doesn’t like them all that much. It’s stupid, ‘cos he grew up here and he’s lived basically smack dab in the middle of them his whole entire life, but there’s something about them that just set his teeth on edge. Doubly so when it’s midnight and he’s walking alone.

 

It’s not  _ all  _ because of the dream he keeps on having, the one where he’s out in the woods and he’s barefoot and he’s walking around even though he keeps getting all cut up by the branches and the brambles and the rocks all over the place. That’d just be pathetic. But it sure doesn’t help all that much.

 

Bullseye knows he won’t get lost because he always knows exactly how to get where he wants to, so it’s not that. It’s something…  _ different.  _ Kind of overwhelming and suffocating and it really only happens sometimes. 

 

Wade says he’s a few cards short of a full deck, which is really only funny when it’s coming from Wade and not one of the girls on his team calling him crazy.

 

It’s really not all that wrong, either.

 

The thing is, and he’s never told anyone ever before, but sometimes he sees things or hears things or some shit like that. And most of the time, those things aren’t actually there.

 

But you don’t really talk about shit like that here. Nobody wants to talk about much of anything, so they don’t, and the world keeps on spinning like everything’s peachy fucking keen. And it’s not like he wants it to be public knowledge that he’s insane when everyone already hates him.

 

So mostly, he just sucks it up and deals with it and keeps on doing things like walking home with his jacket wrapped tight around him as he pretends that the wind rustling through the trees  _ doesn’t  _ sound an awful lot like whispering.

 

There’s not that many cars on the main road this late at night because the only traffic that ever passes through is going up to the city where Elektra goes to college. But every now and again, a car passes him by and each time he sees headlights, he goes stock still. It’s making the walk longer than it ought to be and that’s just making his mood worse.

 

He can’t see into any of the cabs all that well, but he gets this weird little kick out of the idea that he’s scaring the drivers. Who wouldn’t be scared? He’s out of place, a ghost of a boy standing on the side of the road, completely still and staring.

 

When he’s actually walking, he ends up whistling, just to keep himself busy and his mind off of everything and it makes the wind a little bit easier to manage. It’s not any kind of a tune, or a song he remembers. It’s just something to do, the same way he starts wringing his hands or straightening things up or tossing things up and catching ‘em. If he wasn’t so on edge, he’d laugh, ‘cos at night the  whole damn town feels like a graveyard.

 

* * *

Honestly, by the time he makes it back to the trailer park, Bullseye thinks he’s a lot closer to understanding why he and Elektra had that not-fight yesterday. He’s not exactly winded, but his heart’s racing a mile a minute and as soon as he gets back inside he locks the door behind him. Maybe even double, or triple, checks that it’s locked. And he doesn’t even get to settle down all that much ‘cos the walls aren’t too thick in the trailer and he can still hear everything like he’s outside.

 

It’s one hell of a coincidence that the wind picks up right as soon as he’s indoors and he’s really not in the state of mind to deal with all of this right now. It’s howling, probably means the weather’s changing soon, and he can hear the windows rattling. Sounds like someone’s slamming doors and it’s only a few seconds after coming to that realization that he starts tasting bile in the back of his  throat.

 

Maybe it doesn’t even actually sound like slamming doors, maybe he’s just fucked up and broken.

 

But it doesn’t really matter ‘cos right about now he just wants to curl up small and wait for all of this to be over. He probably won’t even sleep tonight; things always seem to get bad when school starts back up and then they even out. That’s what  _ always _ happens.

 

Bullseye doesn’t think he can make it to the bed, even though he kind of sort of promised Elektra he’d stop sleeping on the couch. He kicks his shoes off, which is farther than he thought he’d get, and then he spends a stupid amount of time trying to talk himself into walking away from the front door.

 

It’s a lot harder to make himself move when he doesn’t even feel like he’s  _ here _ , like he’s lost somewhere in his own head instead of standing in the middle of his  _ home _ . Just stuck right in front of the door and not even trying to take his jacket off or get ready for bed or  _ anything.  _ And he hates it ‘cos he knows he has to get up for work tomorrow and he already barely gets enough sleep as it is, and here he goes, being stupid and wasting all that time for nothing.

 

Somehow, he makes it over to the couch, which is right in the middle of everything and away from all the walls. Each step he takes is kind of stiff and shaky and weirdly robotic and before he actually realizes it, he’s lying down. He’s got his knees drawn up to his chest and his back pressed against the back of the couch and he’d go and get Wade’s tape deck but he really can’t even move all that  much.

 

He’s  _ not  _ crying. He’s not some stupid kid who cries just because it’s storming.

 

But he is covering his ears with his hands and gritting his teeth so hard he’ll probably still have a headache tomorrow but he’s used to headaches and he’d take that over being so freaked out about nothing that his whole body’s all locked up.

 

It’s bad enough that he can’t even shake and it’s terrifyingly hard to breathe even if he knows he’s still  _ doing  _ it because obviously he’s not  _ unconscious. _ The wind isn’t even all that muffled by his hands and if it weren’t for the fact that what happens sometimes has never been like  _ this  _ before, he’d be scared that the wind wasn’t even really blowing.

 

It doesn’t sound like it’s raining, which he’d prefer. He doesn’t mind rain, that’s easy and doesn’t get him all freaked out unless he’s thinking too hard about what he’ll have to do if power lines get downed or if things flood and he’s still gotta get to school. At least those are things worth worrying about, not this.

 

And he toughs it out until everything settles down a bit. When it’s not so much as howling outside as it is just whistling. It’s hard to move, but he slides his hands away from his ears and kind of hugs himself so he can get ready for the next part. It’s hard to calm himself down, he’s got this thing about rubbing little circles into his skin and Wade figured it out almost immediately and he really, really, wishes Wade was here doing this instead of having to do it all by himself.

 

When his heart finally stops jackhammering in his chest, he opens his eyes just so he can say that he’s just batshit insane and overreacting and everything’s okay, nothing happened, it’s all fine.

 

But it’s not.

 

It’s really really not fine.

 

Because it sure looks like there’s someone sitting in dad’s easy chair and he  _ knows  _ it’s not dad because dad hasn’t been home for a while and he sure as hell wouldn’t just let Bullseye sit there all curled up and panicky. He’d just pull him off the couch and tell him to go cry somewhere else, but there’s probably, definitely, maybe, someone sitting there. And that someone’s about as big as dad, at least from what he remembers but half the time everything about dad is kind of fuzzy. And he can’t see the face, ‘cos maybe it’s too dark or maybe there  _ isn’t  _ a face at all and that…

 

That’s when he starts to cry.

 

He knows he’s crying ‘cos he can feel tears running down his cheeks but it doesn’t really sink in that he’s also the one making the terrible fucking noise that’s filling the room. It’s choppy and frantic and pleading and he can’t suck in enough air to even sustain it but he just keeps on making it. He hopes no one can hear him, hopes everyone just thinks it’s a fox out in the woods somewhere.

 

It’s kind of muffled, at least, ‘cos now he’s got his forehead pressed against his knees and it feels like he’s got his hands covering his head, like he’s trying to block something. And his skin’s crawling because there’s probably not anything even  _ there  _ but it still feels like it’s  _ staring  _ at him and he’s still crying.

 

He’s got his hair twisted tight around his fingers and maybe he’s pulling it out, like he used to before he started cutting it all off. Can’t tell for sure, though, ‘cos as much as everything about this situation hurts, he’s numb to the bone.

 

If he makes it through the night…

 

Well, he’s gotta make it through the night ‘cos there’s nothing actually wrong, he’s just scared out of his mind.

 

_ When  _ he makes it through the night, he  _ has  _ to find Elektra and he has to apologize so she doesn’t think that he doesn’t care or that he doesn’t need her or love her or whatever. And he won’t tell her about this, ‘cos she already said that she’s so scared about him and it’ll just scare her more if he has to admit that he got like this.

 

He kinda figures that apologizing will be enough to let her know that  _ something  _ happened, but if he doesn’t up and say something, he might just die.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo! i took a week off posting (again) bc i was travelling all last week
> 
> hopefully we should be back to our regular posting schedule now that i'm gonna have wayyyy more free time (no more juggling college AND work)

He’d really like to say someone came and found him come morning and maybe even hugged him tight and told him that everything was okay. But he can’t. Wade doesn’t wake up early enough to come over before he has to go into work and Elektra has morning classes.

 

So he just rolls off the couch when it’s starting to get light and his alarm’s screaming away in the bedroom. Must’ve fallen asleep because he wasn’t all twisted up in a little ball when he realized his alarm was going off. He was spread out, kind of, with his face smushed against the back of the couch.

 

He feels like shit, hell warmed over. He's stiff all over and his jaw hurts just about as much as his head. But he gets up and goes to work anyway because he can't call out sick without fucking himself over and he couldn't stand being alone in the trailer all day.

 

* * *

Wade comes to meet him at the end of his shift, sometimes, but he must’ve got the time wrong today, ‘cos he ends up there an hour before Bullseye gets off. So, he just hangs around while Bullseye works and it’s nice like that. He knows what he needs to be doing enough to kinda pay attention while still getting everything straightened up.

 

Miss Sadie doesn't even get mad at him for letting Wade hang around for so long. Not even when he spends the whole entire time explaining the plot of whatever movie he watched last night in excruciating detail. Bullseye's only half listening, but they'll end up watching it together anyway.

 

Once he's clocked out, Wade takes his hand and damn near drags him out of the gas station. It's really nice to have someone who's always so excited to see him, even if every part of him feels like shit right now. 

 

They don't make it all that far before Wade stops and turns to face him, hands on his shoulders, "B, are you okay? You look like a fucking zombie."

 

"Slept like shit," Bullseye shrugs, like he doesn't look like this half the time.

 

"That storm  _ was  _ pretty wicked, y'know, like that movie from last year? The one with that stupid kid hiding out in the library but he ate shit on the tile floor and had, like, that weird-ass hallucination Reading Rainbow lesson?"

 

Of course Wade will notice the way he frowns, but it's mostly a question of whether or not he'll say anything. It’s almost unnerving how whenever Wade’s jokes don’t land, it’s usually ‘cos they’re right on the money.

 

"Shit, I wasn't trying to make fun of you," Wade backtracks right quick, "You're not the stupid kid in the library hallucinating.”

 

Just a stupid kid in a trailer hallucinating, but Wade doesn't know about that.

 

“I  _ know  _ that, dude. It’s just,” one day he’s really gonna talk himself into a corner, “You know how flimsy the walls are on the trailer. Sounds like everything’s happening right next to you.”

 

“Oh,” Wade smacks himself in the face, not too hard, just for show, “Shit, yeah, I didn’t even think about that. That must’ve been  _ terrible. _ ”

 

“It happens,” Bullseye shrugs.

 

He could probably get away with telling Wade about last night, but he’d rather just never tell anyone and try his hardest to forget about it all. It’s hard to explain and it just makes him feel like shit when he thinks about it too much.

 

So he doesn’t say anything, just changes the subject right quick, “When’s dinner ‘sposed to start? ‘Lektra’s gonna try and make it.”

 

“You can come over whenever, dude. I don’t think my foster mom’s makin’ food ‘til, like, five or something.”

 

He really isn’t all that keen on the idea of going over to Wade’s house and just hanging out where Wade’s foster mom can, like, talk to him and shit. But he really does want to spend as much time with Wade as he possibly can because once they’re back in school, he’ll only get to see him in between classes and at lunch if he’s lucky.

 

“I dunno when I’ll be off work, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

“Fuck yeah!” Wade beams, real big and bright and it gets him smiling too, “I can’t wait, you’re gonna have so much fun!”

 

He’s probably not gonna have much fun at all, especially if Elektra’s there and she’s stuck pretending to be his sister and he’s stuck trying to act like he’s alright being in the same room as Wade’s foster mom. But nobody needs to know that, nobody has to know that he hasn’t made it through a dinner at Wade’s house without slinking off to the bathroom and sitting on the floor and trying to talk himself out of hyperventilating.

 

It’s stupid and he shouldn’t get this worked up over something so small, but he just can’t handle it. He does his best for Wade’s sake because Bullseye loves him, but his best isn’t all that great in the first place.

 

* * *

When they reach the part of Main Street where there's more woods than buildings, they split off. Wade's going shopping for school with his foster Mom and there'd be a time where he'd invite Bullseye along but by now they both know that's not gonna happen.

 

But Wade stops to kiss him before they head off, right on the line where it changes to forest. He's always got a sense for making things cinematic and it's really nice most of the time. Makes him feel special, like there's a point to this all and he's something more than a fucked up kid in the middle of nowhere. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, B!” Wade waves as he heads off back towards his place.

 

And he heads off on the way to his trailer, too, at least until he’s sure Wade won’t see when he doubles back. There aren’t many things that he’d feel embarrassed letting Wade know about, but the fact that he’s gotta walk all the way back in town to use the payphone because he’d rather eat than pay the phone bill is definitely one of them.

 

Got a couple quarters in his pocket, like he always does. He likes little things, things he can play around with, keep his hands busy. Makes life all that much easier. But he’s gonna have to use them to call Elektra and let her know when dinner is.

 

He’s had her number memorized since she first told it to him, always has been good with numbers, so he knows he’s dialed right. Which is why it’s real fucking weird when the call finally gets picked up and the person on the other end of the line is a  _ man. _

 

“Who is this?” The way the stranger says it sounds like maybe he  _ did  _ dial wrong after all, but there’s no way.

 

“I could ask  _ you  _ the same question,” Bullseye tries to sound a bit scarier than usual, “Is ‘Lektra home?”

 

“Why are you looking for my  _ girlfriend?  _ You sound like you’re, what, maybe  _ fourteen?” _

 

He’s usually not all that angry, but he still ends up yelling into the receiver, “Fuck you! I’m  _ seventeen!” _

 

“Watch your  _ mouth!” _

 

And then he hears Elektra, kind of muffled in the background, “Matthew, darling, I think this call is for  _ me.” _

 

Sounds like someone’s covering the receiver with their hand and he really only makes out about as much as ‘who  _ is  _ that?’ or something similar. But Elektra gets the phone eventually and he can just see her making that smile she always has when she wins a fight.

 

“What is it, Bullseye?”

 

“Is that your stupid narc lawyer boyfriend? ‘Cos he sounds like a stupid narc lawyer. And I hate him already.”

 

"Yes," Elektra sighs, sounds real exasperated, "That was Matthew."

 

"Have I mentioned that I hate him yet? Because I do."

 

"Yes, I believe you have," she laughs, "And you have not even met him yet. I believe that's a new record."

 

And then she sobers up, gets all serious with her voice down low, "What is it? Why are you calling?"

 

"Jeez, calm down, I'm  _ fine, _ " he doesn't let himself sound as mean as he could 'cos he knows that she worries a lot, "My phone's still off and I needed to tell you that dinner's at five at Wade's foster mom's house."

 

"You could have told me that when I drove down to see you like I do almost every night, Bullseye."

 

"I," he gets a little bit caught on that, doesn't want to say what he really ought to, "I wanted to make  _ sure  _ you knew."

 

"There is something you are not telling me, yes?"

 

"I'm  _ sorry _ ," his voice cracks and it makes him sound a lot more pathetic than he wanted to.

 

Elektra doesn't say anything; doesn't know if it means she doesn't accept the apology or if she wants him to say something more but he's really, really hoping it's the second one.

 

"I'm sorry we had a not-fight and I'm sorry I scare you all the time and I really, really want you to keep hangin' around with me, I dunno what I'd do without you."

 

"Oh Bullseye," Elektra gets all quiet, almost can't hear her, "We will talk about this tonight."

 

"I love you, please don't be mad at me."

 

"Listen to me: I am  _ not  _ mad. And I love you too."

 

That makes everything a little bit better and he ends up shouting into the receiver, "YOU HEAR THAT, LAWYER BOY? YOUR GIRLFRIEND LOVES ME!"

 

"Bullseye. Stop talking."

 

He gestures like he’s zipping his lips even though Elektra isn’t here to see it. Probably picked that up from Wade a while back, like most of the things he does now. He can hear Matt in the background, asking about who’s on the phone yet again.

 

“I will pick you up from work,” Elektra says it like he’s got no say in the matter, “You are off at midnight, correct?”

 

He figures he’s running out of time so he replies real quick, “Yeah, midnight, love you, bye!”

 

“Do  _ not  _ spend all day worrying,” Elektra adds, before he gets a chance to hang up, “We will talk about this, but there is nothing worth making yourself sick about.”

 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he’s lying through his teeth but he’ll  _ try  _ at least.

 

And then he gets the message to put another quarter in for more time. Doesn’t seem worth it, there’s nothing to say to Elektra that he hasn’t already and he needs some time to sleep before his second job. So he hangs up and hangs around in the booth a while trying to calm down before starting the walk back home.

 

He always gets so nervous when he’s all on his lonesome, but he really doesn’t want to be all that clingy. Everyone says it’ll scare boys off and he doesn't wanna lose Wade, not when they’ve only got the rest of high school left. He’s sure Wade’s gonna go to college or move to some city where he won’t have to drive three hours to go get treatments and Bullseye’s gonna be stuck here forever ‘cos he  can’t just sell the trailer ‘cos dad might come back and he can’t just  _ leave  _ ‘cos he can’t drive and he probably couldn’t go to any college even if he gets in.

 

He makes it back home just fine, though. Always finds his way, even if he’s not all the way there. It’s funny, kind of; Wade says it’s like a superpower, same as the way he always pitches a shot just right, never fucks it up, not once.

 

Soon as he’s inside, he sets his alarm right quick and falls asleep, dressed all the way. Kicks his shoes off, still, ‘cos dad would kill him if he knew Bullseye got in his bed with shoes on. He’s still awful careful, like if he isn’t careful, he might forget all the things he’s ‘sposed to do.

 

* * *

He gets up and goes to work and makes it through just fine, though he’s even more tired than the day before and it probably shows. The fluorescent lights make him look like he’s dead in the back room mirror. Face all white, dark circles under his eyes, but at least he hasn’t come into work with a black eye in a long while. That always got people nice and scared, made it hard to be good at his job.

 

But that’s all in the past and right now, he’s sitting outside on the curb waiting for Elektra. If he wasn’t so worried about fucking up his performance, he’d probably be one of the kids that always gets someone to buy smokes for ‘em. Elektra’d probably do it for him and maybe that way, he’d stop picking holes in all his shirts. But he’s gotta stay on the team, otherwise he might up and die, so he’s never picked up the habit, just keeps on unravelling a new hole in his jeans every time he gets all antsy-like.

 

Elektra pulls up by the time he’s worried away enough threads that the skin of his knee is bared to the night air. And he doesn’t get up right away, like he’s weighing the pros and cons of telling Elektra that he’s sorry right now.

 

“Bullseye,” she says, all nice and soft and gentle, “We are not having a conversation out here.”

 

Which takes the matter out of his hands, and he likes it best that way anyway, so he puts on her spare helmet and wraps his arms tight around her.

 

They’re maybe halfway to his trailer when he realizes that having a conversation at home means that he can’t just up and bolt if he doesn’t like where it ends up going. He’s done that before, not to be an asshole or because he doesn’t want to listen, but because he just can’t stand it anymore. Doesn’t even realize he’s done it ‘til he’s already gone, sometimes.

 

But he’ll stick it out, ‘cos he has to, otherwise he won’t be able to apologize to Elektra.

 

That’s what he keeps on telling himself, the whole damn way home.

 

She parks in her usual place out front and for some stupid reason, he just doesn’t let go of her. No, he just keeps on holding tight, helmet’s probably digging into her back, and it’s so  _ pathetic  _ and  _ childish _ and he really, really, shouldn’t be doing it.

 

Elektra runs her fingers over his hands which really doesn’t do much other than force him to realize how goddamn numb they are. He’s mostly trying not to cry, like this might be the last time they ever do this.

 

“Let go,” she says, but she doesn’t say it mean-like.

 

At least, he doesn’t think so. Might just be wishful thinking, ‘cos she starts undoing his fingers, one at a time. And he doesn’t mean to,  _ really  _ doesn’t  _ want  _ to, but he starts on whimpering like some fucked up little animal and he can’t even stop it.

 

“Hey, shhh, shhh,” she drops her voice down low, soft, too, “You are  _ okay.  _ You must  _ breathe. _ ”

 

And he tries to say that he’s  _ fine,  _ you don’t have to  _ worry,  _ but he can’t quite form the words in his mouth, just keeps on caterwauling. Sounds like he’s one of the feral ones running around the park. Never seem to last all that long out here, too many cars driving around, at all hours of the night, and too many fucked up, bored kids and he’d feed ‘em if he could, but he can barely feed himself.

 

Elektra all but pries him off of her, which really just makes things worse. Sets to hugging his waist like he’s gonna fold in on himself, but Elektra keeps him upright as she pulls his helmet off. Crouches down in front of him until they’re both on the same level.

 

She places her hands on his shoulders, real firm, and looks him right in the eye. When he tries to duck out of it, she turns his head back to face her and he really hates that he’s scared because it’s  _ Elektra  _ and she’s doing it oh so softly, not hurting him or anything.

 

“What has gotten into you?  _ Look  _ at me,” she stops his eyes from drifting a second time, “What happened?”

 

“ _ Nothin’ _ ,” he sounds awful small right about now and maybe he wouldn’t feel so terrible if it was a lie, but it’s a truth and that means it’s just  _ him. _

 

Elektra’s looking at him like she doesn't believe him all that much, though, which sets his heart to racing and makes him feel like he’s about to choke.

 

“Really, ‘Lektra, I didn’t sleep much ‘cos o’ the storm last night and I’ve been just as worried as usual ‘bout school startin’ up and nothin’s happened at all. I swear.”

 

“You are telling me the  _ entire  _ truth?”

 

“Yeah,” his voice kind of cracks on that, “I just got real scared, so bad I couldn’t move, and I kept thinkin’ that I really oughta apologize to you ‘cos I think I get it now and I couldn’t call you or nothin’ ‘cos the phone’s off and I couldn’t move even a bit.”

 

Elektra frowns at that, like maybe he said something wrong, and that just gets him more worked up, more convinced that she’s finally had it with him being so fucking needy.

 

“Oh, Bullseye,” she runs her fingers through his hair, does her best at trying to tuck it back behind his ears but as short as it is now, it just sticks up straight, “Bullseye, dear, what are we going to do with you?”

 

Deep down he kind of really wishes that she’d pick him up and carry him inside, even though he’s seventeen and kind of on the small side for seventeen but still  _ seventeen _ and too old and too big for this. Wade’s told him all about pretending to be asleep in the backseat so your parents will carry you inside and nothing he’s ever said has made Bullseye ache quite like that.

 

Instead, Elektra just straightens all the way up and ruffles his hair, “You are going to catch your death if you spend all night out here.”

 

He stands up, real stiff-like and still kind of holding out hope for  _ something.  _

 

Elektra unlocks the front door and keeps on checking over her shoulder like she’s making sure he’s still standing and even after all that, she follows him inside.

 

She turns on all the lights she can manage and he doesn't have the heart to tell her to stop, to tell her that he can't afford to do stupid shit like that, the dark is  _ fine. _ No, he just shuffles over to the couch and sits down, hugging his knees. 

 

Elektra sits right next to him. He doesn’t see her do it, but he can feel her, how the couch sinks down when she joins him. She’s weird and she’s not all that touchy-feely, so it means a whole hell of a lot when she starts rubbing his back.

 

And he just starts rambling, because it’s better than shaking or crying or anything like that. Isn’t even really talking to her, just  _ talking,  _ and if he’s being honest, things like that happen a lot more than they ought to.

 

“--and it’s our last year and Wade’s gonna graduate and guess I’m gonna graduate too but he’s gonna leave ‘cos he’s done school and that’s the only reason they haven’t moved closer to the doctors ‘cos it’s ‘sposed to be good to have ‘stability’ ‘n’ shit and I’m not gonna leave, not ever, ‘cos dad might come back and I can’t pay rent if I’m jus’ doin’ school even if I get a scholarship and you’re probably gonna get your degree and go get a real nice job somewhere and I’m just gonna die here, gonna be stuck here forever and I can’t do any of the things you’re ‘sposed to when it’s your last year ‘cos everyone hates me, thinks I’m weird--”

 

He knows better than to hope that Elektra isn’t listening. Even if he’s barely listening to himself, he’s willing to bet she’s getting it all, filing it away for later. She listens to everyone, even if she’s real quiet about it.

 

And she just lets him wear himself out, which might be what he needed, can’t really tell at this point. But his voice is hoarse and his head hurts and he’s doing that weird freaky whimper-panting again. Feels like he’s settled down, at least. 

 

Still, there’s something missing. See, the thing is, Elektra usually has an answer. Maybe not all of them, but at least one. And it’s usually a pretty good one at that.

 

But she isn’t saying anything  _ now.  _ Just keeps on rubbing his back.

 

And that gets him scared, real scared, like maybe she left soon as he sat down and there’s never been anyone there, or something wearing her skin like a costume, like the man in the chair.

 

Pulls away so quick he damn near falls off the couch, scrambling back against the armrest. But either it’s Elektra, or it’s real, real good. She’s all wide-eyed and scared and kind of sad looking.

 

“Why aren’t you  _ talking  _ to me?” He doesn’t mean to do it, but he’s yelling, real shrill and frantic, “Why aren’t you saying  _ anything _ ?”

 

Elektra ducks her head, starts looking down at her hands in her lap like they’re real interesting all of the sudden. And she just kinda stays quiet for another while, can’t tell how long it is before she takes a deep breath and starts to speak.

 

“I do not know what to say. I do not know what will happen to you. I cannot  _ help  _ you with this. It is not the same thing as making you dinner or making sure you eat enough or taking you home from work.”

 

“Fuck you!” He shrieks, can’t even stop it, “I hate you!  _ I HATE YOU! _ ” 

 

He bites down hard on his hand after that, stops himself from actually screaming outright. Might’ve already gotten too loud as it is.

 

“ _ Bullseye _ ,” she grabs his wrist, hard, “You  _ cannot  _ do things like this.”

 

She tugs on his arm once for emphasis and he opens his mouth, lets her pull his hand away. There’s teeth marks on the soft skin and he’s kind of lost in staring at the ridges on his palm. She doesn’t let go, just keeps on holding his wrist. Not quite hard enough to hurt.

 

“You are  _ not  _ allowed to hurt yourself.”

 

“Why do you care? What’s the fucking point? You just wanna pretend you’re not some stupid rich college girl and it’s easy when you’re spendin’ time with some ratty trailer park kid!”

 

“We are not getting  _ anywhere,”  _ she growls, “We cannot have a conversation when you are this  _ hysterical.” _

 

“Maybe I don’t  _ wanna  _ have a ‘conversation’, ‘Lektra.”

 

She looks at him, all deadly severe, “Go to sleep.”

 

“Stop tellin’ me what--”

 

“Go. To. Sleep. Right now. We will continue this tomorrow.”

 

That makes his heart stop in his chest, blood going cold, but he’s got an awful habit of doing things if people tell him to do ‘em just right. So he gets up and Elektra lets his arm go and he stomps off into the bedroom. Slams the door shut behind him for emphasis.

 

He flops down onto the bed on his stomach and screams into the pillow. Somewhere along the way, screaming turns into sobbing and he bets Elektra can hear it. The walls are thin and she hasn’t left yet, would’ve heard her burning out on her motorcycle.

 

Already knows he won’t be able to apologize to her tonight. He’s too fucking pissed off, doesn’t even want to look at her right about now, but he’ll do it eventually because he can’t, can’t, can’t lose her. He’s not ready, yet.

 

Of course, he’ll have to  _ get  _ ready. Sooner rather than later because his life is going to fucking end after he graduates. Everything’s gonna fall apart and he has to be  _ prepared.  _ It’ll hurt too much if he isn’t and if there’s anything he’s found out tonight, it’s that he’s not ready at all.

 

But right now, he just wants to be angry. He doesn't  _ get  _ angry often because it's scary, but he wants to scream or cry or break something or really just do anything to get it all out so he doesn't have to feel like this again.

 

There's nothing in the bedroom he  _ could _ break and he doesn't want to disappoint Elektra even more by doing something stupid so he just keeps on screaming with his head buried in his pillow. He only stops when he realizes his voice has given out.

 

Then, he curls up as small as he can and hopes he'll actually get to sleep some before work. It's not exactly light out but it isn't dark either and the alarm clock says 1:30. The numbers glow a kind of soft blue, cutting through the night in a way that makes him settle just a little bit more. He's not enough of a  _ baby  _ to need night lights, but he's still on edge after last night.

 

The fight really took a lot out of him, though. He's beyond tired and everything about him  _ hurts.  _ Gonna feel like shit in the morning, even if he does manage to sleep and then he’s gonna be a fucking zombie all through work and then he’s gonna go to Wade’s house for dinner and probably freak the fuck out again.

 

Maybe, just maybe, part of why he let it go so far tonight was so he wouldn’t do anything stupid or scary or terrible when he’s at Wade’s place. Like if he got it all out of his system then he wouldn’t accidentally snap at Wade. Not that he ever has snapped at Wade, because he’s so  _ careful  _ and so good at folding up his bad feelings real small and filing them away somewhere.

 

The worst part is, he doesn’t even know if Elektra will still show up.

 

She’d have every right not to after what just happened, every right to just never talk to him again, never stop by and make sure he’s okay or make him dinner or drive him home from work. There’s no reason why she wouldn’t just leave him alone. It’s not like people haven’t ditched him for less than freaking out and saying he hates them.

 

It’s stupid and selfish and terrible, but he really isn’t sure if he can get through the dinner without her. Elektra’s good at being  _ normal  _ and talking to adults and not scaring anyone. And she knows him well enough to keep him from going totally off the rails. Well, most of the time…

 

And if she doesn’t come to dinner, then she might stop coming to his games. And she might stop coming to get him when he’s in the nurse’s office or in  _ real  _ trouble. And she might not bother showing up when teachers want to talk to him about  _ grades  _ and  _ colleges  _ and other stupid things they think you need an adult around to talk about.

 

And, the real scary one, maybe if she’s not around, people will start to realize that he’s all on his lonesome.

 

He’s not sure if anyone really knows that dad’s been gone for a long while. Nobody ever saw much of him about as soon as Bullseye could make his way to the store alone and it was better that way,  really, ‘cos they almost got in  _ big  _ trouble when he was too small to go out on his own on account of the fact that he never did go to school all that much. Must’ve caught up alright, though, because otherwise he wouldn’t be in the same grade as Wade.

 

He doesn’t like remembering those days all that much. It makes him curl up even tighter now, even though it’s mostly blurry other than being tired and feeling all limp and listless all the time. And if he had any tears left over from last night, he’d probably be crying. But he doesn’t, so he just keeps on trying to curl in on himself even more, like if he hugs himself tight enough he could just stop existing.

**Author's Note:**

> yes bullseye IS trans. to quote david lynch, fix your hearts or die. also it's the best way to translate the 'bullseye as a chosen name' thing to a high school au setting without it being a weird analog.


End file.
